


Echoes

by corruptedpov



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angry John, Asexual Sherlock, Asperger's Sherlock, Gen, Isolation, Lonely Sherlock, Mental Health Issues, My First AO3 Post, Not Canon Compliant, OOC Sherlock, Past Torture, Paternal Lestrade, Pining Sherlock, Post-Reichenbach, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, References to Drugs, Sherlock-centric, Slow Build, Tags May Change, generally just emotions, lots and lots of emotional stuff, properly angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-02
Updated: 2016-06-03
Packaged: 2018-02-15 22:04:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 252
Words: 307,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2244969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corruptedpov/pseuds/corruptedpov
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock comes back from his two years away, expecting to continue life like nothing happened with John. But he comes home to find it's not that simple. John hates him for his betrayal, he's suffering from PTSD, and nothing is the same. Sherlock just wants everything to go back to normal, but can it when he's alienated his best friend from himself and can barely hold it together?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't my first attempt at writing fan fic, but it's my first attempt at Sherlock fic, so I'm open for constructive criticism, hints, tips, pointers, anything anyone can give me! Even if it's just a grammar check, I'm happy to go back and correct it as I may have missed it, as I'm beta reading this myself, so I'm very likely to have missed things.  
> Also, I'm basing Sherlock's Asperger's on my own experiences with the syndrome, as well as what I've researched and seen from a few friends of mine, but again, I'm open to constructive criticism on that too, if anyone wants to give me anything!  
> This is my first fic on AO3 too, so if this goes horribly wrong, blame my inexperience on this website!  
> And, thank you for clicking on this fic too, I've worked hard on it for several months, so I hope it's alright.  
> I also own absolutely nothing apart from the story line. Everything else is from Arthur Conan Doyle, and Mofftiss.

The copper pipe hit into my side for the 6th time in the last ten minutes but I refused to say a word or even make a single sound, despite the pain I was in. I could get through this, I could. _Just a few more minutes Sherlock, just a few more. He'll get tired and leave, and then you can escape._ Exactly, a few more minutes, then this hulking Serbian would leave. If he didn't, I'd use my last defence, spew the deductions I'd made about his wife having an affair in the hope it would get rid of him.

The sound of the pipe clattering to the ground shocked me out of my thoughts, a punch landing to my already sore face before I even had a second to rejoice in the fact that the pole was being dismissed as a torture method. My sight went black as my head wiped to the side, the air leaving my lungs as a knee found its way into my stomach. My legs gave out but I didn't fall to the ground, just wrenched my arms from the sudden strain of having my entire weight being held up by them as they dangled in chains hanging off the wall.

Still, I refused to make a sound, until my hair was grabbed and yanked upwards, forcing my face to look up at the same time.

"Come on now, tell us your name. That's all I want to know, tell us your name, your _real_ name." The Serbian torturer almost purred, like _that_ was the only thing he wanted. But if my plan worked, I'd be out of here in an hour at most, _you can do this Sherlock. Just give the code name, the final code name._

"Scott Williams." I muttered, knowing that that would be searched through the internet, which Mycroft was monitoring. The second he got notice that that name was being searched for, he was mobilising the team to pick me up and possibly give back up if needed. Though I doubted it would be, there were still knives and guns in here, they'd be serviceable weapons.

My captor grunted and stormed out the damp cell, slamming the door behind him. I heard him grunt a 'watch him' and then footsteps leading away from my cell. No other movements were made.... I hesitated to look up to find that I was alone. _Now's your chance! Go!_

I regained my balance on my legs, starting to tug on the chains around my arms, having felt their weaknesses the other day. With just the right twist and pull, I could escape this; I just needed the right leverage... Like that! My right arm broke free of restraint and I fell to the floor again, too weak to stand up straight. I hadn't eaten in days; water had been sparse too, only given when I'd given them another fake name to search. I'd run through every possible one I could, but now was the time to not give up, get out of here and take down this piece. This _last_ puzzle piece.

_Just get this out of the way Sherlock, and then you can go home. 221b, John, cases, **London.**_

With that thought I quickly dislocated my thumb, biting back another cry of pain, slipping my hand out of the shackle, resetting the appendage and grabbing a serrated knife, a gun and two magazines for it. Though, no sign of either my shoes or a coat I could wear. Damn. It was going to get cold on my trek out of this bunker. _Doesn't matter, it's just transport. The body is just transport._ That was a point.

Shaking myself from musings, I snuck up to the door, grateful that my shoeless feet with silent on the stone floor, so the guard (amateur, early 20s, girlfriend at home, wearing earphones and listening to rather loud music) didn't even notice me sneaking up behind him. I took a split second to feel sorry for him before sliding the knife over his throat, watching him crumple to the ground and bleed to death on the floor. One down, many more to go.

Expertly, I snuck through the underground base, picking off each agent quickly, their blood staining my body, mixing with my own and matting my already matted hair. _221b. And John. You're doing this for John. You're going home now, keep going._ I followed the voice, propelled by the thought of this being my last mission before I could go home at last.

Two years, it had been two, long, long years since I'd been home, since I'd seen anybody but enemies working for Moriarty. I couldn't take any more of this mission, I'd had enough, I'd been away for far too long. But it was over, once I found the head of this sector, which was just... round... this... corner. THERE! Without even thinking about it, I shot the man in the head, watching his blood paint the walls red. _Good riddance._

Moriarty's web was destroyed, as that man fell to the ground, the finale peace of the web fell with it. London was safe, the world was safer. The spider was dead, the web dismantled. I could go _home._

I grabbed a spare coat and ran out of the door, not feeling the snow freeze my feet or anything, just searching for my rescue vehicle, surely my rescue was coming? Mycroft got the message, he was ready for this. He _had_ to be. I turned to left and right, carrying on walking around the circumference of the base until a vehicle turned up. It was beat up and black, with only a driver inside the cab, the backup team stored in the back.

"You looking for a lift Mr Scott?" He asked, heavily put on German accent, using the code phrase we agreed on. "Finally, I've been wandering for hours! Mycroft couldn't get off his fat arse to send the rescue party could he?" I growled, falling into the warm car. "Sorry Sir, it took a long time for the warning to come through." The agent apologised, driving off to the airport, where, to my surprise, Mycroft was waiting.

"Hello Sherlock, ready to go home?" He smirked, well that was one smug face or tone of voice I _hadn't_ missed during my captivity. "Shut up Mycroft, just take me back home." I stumbled up into the plane, falling on one of the ridiculously clean seats and promptly falling asleep. The adrenaline had completely run out of me, leaving me exhausted, and feeling the sharp pains throughout my body. But my need for sleep outweighed the pain; I hadn't slept in three days, not for more than a minute at a time. So I fell asleep as soon as I hit the seat, dreaming of returning home, safe in the knowledge that everything was okay. Everything was going back to normal, exactly how it needed to be.


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What John's been up to since Sherlock 'died'

1 John's POV

_"This phone call, it's... it's my note. That's what people do, don't they? Leave a note..." Sherlock's voice wavered slightly, his small figure on top of the building not even wavering for a second._

_"Leave a note when?" I didn't understand what he meant. What note? Why was he leaving a note?_

_"Goodbye, John..." The phone call cut off, Sherlock's hand moving, throwing the phone away or something, before his arms stretched out to the sides._

_"Sherlock!" I shouted, watching him fall so fast to the floor, hitting the pavement with a sickening crunch._

"Sherlock!" I called out, scrambling out of the mass of sheets my duvet had turned into. For a split second, I thought I was back in Baker Street, in my room upstairs, and any second now the violin would start playing and I'd be lulled back to sleep by Sherlock. But once I caught sight of the plain white walls and the single bed, I realised that no, I wasn't in Baker Street. I hadn't been to Baker Street in 18 months, nearly two years. Because Sherlock was dead. My best friend had committed suicide in front of me and was now dead, not coming back, _never_ coming back.

My chest pounded with the pain of the realisation, as it did every morning. Even though I went through this every single day when I woke up, it never got any easier. Knowing that I could have done something, said _something,_ Sherlock could have still been here. He could have still been alive, building back his reputation, proving that Moriarty was the fake, not him. I'd never believe he was a fake; nobody could have been as clever as he'd been, and nobody could have faked all of it as well as he did. And yet, even with him knowing that I believed him, he still jumped. Killed himself, because his entire life had been turned upside down due to Moriarty wrecking it for him. And there was _nothing_ I could do. Just carry on with my life. Like I _had_ a life now.

I lived alone in a tiny flat, doing the ordinary 9-5 weekday shifts at a local doctor’s surgery. Didn't have adventures, didn't have any nights out. Nothing. Just worked and then sat in a flat by myself, trying not to join Sherlock by putting a bullet through my brain. The only thing stopping me was the fact that Sherlock wouldn't have wanted that for me. He was an insensitive asshole, but I _knew_ he wouldn't have wanted me to commit suicide like he did; he'd want me to continue solving cases, proving that he was a good man, the best man I'd ever known. _That_ kept me going, knowing that only me and possibly Mrs Hudson knew exactly who Sherlock Holmes really was. He wasn't a high functioning sociopath, or a psychopath. He was a _good man,_ the _best man,_ and if I died, nobody would know that. Only Mrs Hudson would know, and what would be the point in just her knowing? If there were just two of us who knew, just two, it was better than nobody, better than having the entire world think that Sherlock was a heartless freak. I couldn't bear the thought of having the real him die out, leave his barely reinstated reputation be tainted with the idea that he was a machine.

_"You machine!"_ I flinched at the echo of my own words. The last words I'd ever said to Sherlock face to face. I'd said that to him, and not two hours later, he threw himself off a building. The guilt I felt for that was unimaginable. I wished I'd said something else, realised before that he wasn't a machine, taken back those words, said something else. Why did I walk off when he needed me most? Why did I let him stay at Bart's? Not drag him away with me? _Why?_ Why couldn't I have been a better friend, and prevented this? I should have prevented it, _I should have prevented this._

My phone rang next to my bed, making me jump and break from my thoughts. Belatedly, I realised that tears were in my eyes, and I wiped them away hastily as I answered the phone. "Hello?" I asked, having not checked who was calling, but having a good guess.

"John, it's me, Linda. You're an hour late for work, is everything okay?" Linda, the head of the surgery asked.

"Yeah, I er... I can't come in today. I'm sorry I just," I trailed off, how did I explain that I was still dreaming of my best friend’s suicide, and that guilt for not preventing it was tearing me apart?

"Having a rough day, I know. I'll cover your patients as well, but... I really think you should get a therapist again; you're having so many days like this John. We're all worried for you." Linda sighed, concern dripping through. I was sure the only reason why she hadn't fired me by this point was because Mycroft was paying her. I wouldn't have put it passed him, slimy bastard, trying to make up for his mistakes with Sherlock by looking out for me.

"Thanks, thanks... I'll be in tomorrow. Promise." I hung up before she could say any more, falling back into bed, willing the feeling of my stomach caving in on itself to go away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've replied to each of your comments, but I just want to say thank you again for reading and commenting. And thank you to the people who have left kudos on this fic, it does honestly mean a lot to me.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Right, now this should be back to Sherlock's POV, with John's in the previous chapter... I hope...

2 Sherlock's POV

"Mycroft I'm fine, stop with all of this! I can walk and can function, let me go home! I think I've deserved that much!" I growled at my brother, glaring at the doctor who was currently fussing around me. Since we'd touched down in England and made it back to Mycroft's office, I'd been poked and prodded like you wouldn't believe. Yes the stitching up was nice, along with the hot shower, but I wanted to go _home._ All I wanted was to step back into Baker Street, be alive again, _and see John._ I was fine, why couldn't I go and do that?

"We're just making sure that you are in fully working order brother mine. You've been hurt pretty badly and gone through countless trials, we're being thorough in checking that you don't need hospital treatment." Mycroft gave me the same smug smile he always gave me; it made me want to hit him _hard._

"Well I'm fine. No pain or anything, let me go." I pulled out of the doctors arms, holding in a hiss of pain as my ribs protested. Didn't matter though, it was just a twinge in my body. It would heal; the transport would heal, just like always. I just needed to ignore it.

"What was that then? A wince? I doubt very much that you're actually perfectly fine Sherlock. Let us look you over, and give you a haircut, you look ghastly." Mycroft turned his huge nose up at my hair, which was far too long for its own good, hanging down by my chin. Even after a shower it was twisted and ratty; John may have called it a bird’s nest, even though it didn’t resemble anything close to a birds nest.

"Well if you'd been there sooner, maybe I wouldn't look so ghastly." I hissed. I'd wanted back up damn it, that's why I'd sent the message in the name! Instead I was the one who had to kill yet another base of people because Mycroft couldn't get off his fat ass to send anybody. Again.

"We both know that I couldn't get our people over there any sooner, you were supposed to bide your time. Or at least find out quickly how the Serbian's were involved in Moriarty's web! You took over a month to do it!" Mycroft shot back.

"Do you know how hard it is to concentrate on anything when you're being _tortured_ Mycroft?! How much it hurts to be hit with pipes repeatedly until your bones break, denied sleep for days on end, _water boarded?_ I can hardly be blamed for not paying attention 100% of the time when I could barely hold myself together long enough to not die!" I shouted, losing it at my _idiot_ of a brother! How dare he act like I was in complete control of the situation, like this had been easy! All he'd done was sat at his desk eating yet more cake while I got tortured nearly to my death for a month!

"Well if our first plan had worked and you hadn't been caught infiltrating their ranks you would have been just fine and you would probably be in your precious Baker Street right now." Mycroft still gave me that infuriating smug smile. One of these days, I was going to _kill_ him, I'd had enough practice in killing recently. All I needed to do was sneak into his house, asphyxiate him in his sleep, maybe poison his cake, that would teach him for eating so much.

"Sherlock, stop planning my demise, poisoning cake is a very unimaginative way of killing." Mycroft sighed, like I had just said something incredibly stupid.

"You'd deserve it, now get out of here, I don't want to see your face any more." I'd had enough of him. If he insisted on me getting checked over, the least he could do was leave me well alone for it.

"You're going to chuck me out of my own office? Hardly seems polite." Mycroft nearly laughed.

"Get out of here! I've had enough of your smugness, get out!" I shoved him out of the room, ignoring hot splices of pain running up and down my back as I did.

"Careful brother mine, don't want to hurt ourselves do we?" Mycroft lifted an eyebrow as I slammed the door in his face.

I groaned and flung myself into the chair, tempted to mess up the room, aggravate the assholes OCD. "Sir, do you mind if I check your ribs, you sounded to be in pain just then." The doctor asked, I waved him over, sitting still for the rest of the exam as he worked in silence, only making occasional comments until the end.

"You've probably guessed, but you've cracked three ribs on the left side and another one on the right. You're back is quite frankly a war zone, but I've stitched up everything I can, as well as bandaged it, but some cuts are showing signs of infection, so they'll need to be cleaned regularly and you'll need antibiotics. Have you got someone who can help you clean your wounds? If not I'll be happy to come round and tend to them." He continued, he was a good doctor, had been working for over thirty years in the profession and knew what he was on about. But he was thinking of retiring, no, _had_ retired. My brother had called him especially... Maybe because he had past experiences with spies coming to him with wounds...

"I've got John, he's a doctor, he can look after them all if needed." I answered, pulling on one of my shirts. Oh that was heavenly, I had no idea how much I'd missed being able to wear silk shirts that _fitted,_ well... Sort of anyway. I'd lost weight during my time away, but these were better than the horrid garb I'd been in for the past two years. Couple with my suit jacket and Belstaff, I felt like I could face the world again. Be Sherlock Holmes again. I'd missed that person so much.

"Great, now I'm sure he'll also look after your weight too, because I've heard that you don't look after yourself. But it is very important that you do now, you've lost too much weight, its bordering on dangerous levels really. At the very least you need to gain another twenty seven pounds, so you're in the normal weight range... Are you even listening to me?" The doctor asked, giving me a glare in the mirror.

"Yes, yes I'm listening. Gain more weight, look like a skeleton, make sure John checks over my wounds so I'm healthy, I get it. Can I go now?" I turned to face him, getting impatient again. I just wanted to _go;_ I'd had enough of all of this. I wanted to get back to Baker Street, reveal just how alive I was to John, sit with him in our home and eat dim sum, to wake up in the morning and continue with experiments, go on cases together. To enjoy the thrill of the chase again, this wasn't doing that, this was too much talking and not enough normality!

"Okay, okay, I'll send in the hair dresser, unless you wish for someone else to do that too?" The doctor asked, I told him to send him in, along with the file I knew Mycroft had. I'd told him to keep tabs on John, so I'd know where he was, what he was doing, so I could surprise him in the best way possible. He'd be delighted to see me; maybe I could pop out of a cake! He'd laugh at that, and he'd probably enjoy the cake too...


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock reveals himself to John.

3 John's POV

After finishing work, I started making my way home, limping slightly as I did so. The psychosomatic limp _was not_ back, it just... It just twanged some days, usually after I'd had a particularly guilt filled night. Sherlock would have probably taken me out to a case to make me forget all about it, or played violin when he heard signs of distress, but due to him not being there any more, I had no distractions and so had to put up with the twanging pain every now and again. So I pushed through, walking through London on the way back to my flat, moving particularly fast through streets me and Sherlock had frequented. The memories, they were too much sometimes. Remembering all the times we'd gone running through the streets together, laughing madly as we chased criminals. I missed that so much, missed it more than anything in the world.

No, I was not going to think of that, I wasn't going to have another break down. It had been _two years,_ any hope of Sherlock coming back were not happening. He was dead, very clearly dead. I had to move on and get over it, not think of him anymore. Well maybe not in public, in streets we'd discovered bodies, ate dinner... I needed a new route home.

I turned the corner and round to Angelo's, keeping walking as fast as I could, but I couldn't help but look up at the restaurant. And when I did, I stopped in my tracks, making several people bump into me. No... I was not seeing right.

In the window, sitting as casually as anything, was _Sherlock._ Right there, not a curl amiss, all long limbs and dark coat, pale skin shining in the pale lamp light, a smile on his face as he looked at me right in the eyes. What? That couldn't... That couldn't be Sherlock! Sherlock was dead, I saw him jump, I saw him, he was _dead._ But he was right there! No! I couldn't... What?!

One pale, long fingered hand waved me in, still looking right at me, so I rushed inside, standing right in front of Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock Holmes who was apparently not dead.

"Hello John... Surprise!" Sherlock grinned, apparently pleased with himself as he stood up to face me.

"No, I'm imagining this, you're dead. I saw, you... You died." This really could not be real, Sherlock was dead, he jumped off that building, he'd _died._

"Erm, funny thing is, I didn't actually die. I've been away for two years, but I'm back now. I came back." Sherlock still grinned, looking for all the world like he'd just come back from _holiday._

"No, this cannot be happening, you were dead! You were dead, I saw you die! You jumped off St Bart's, committed suicide! We had a funeral, we all mourned, you just... You can't be alive!" My head was spinning, how had Sherlock survived? Why didn't he tell me?! I didn't understand, what the hell was he doing here, instead of in a grave, six feet under?!

"I am John, I came back for you. You said you wanted one more miracle, that you wanted me not to be dead, I'm not dead, aren't you happy?" Sherlock still smiled, like this was _normal._ He reached out and touched my arm, warm and _real._ Sherlock _wasn't dead._ He'd lied... He hadn't died and hadn't even told me.

All of a sudden I saw red as anger took me over, the fact that the man who had once been my best friend had lied to me for _two years._ He'd actually _lied;_ let me _mourn him,_ without even a single _hint_ that he was still alive. How could he have done that? How could he have been so thoughtless, so careless? He let me grieve, go through _hell_ and not even deem me important enough to tell me that he was actually alive?! I was so _angry_ at him, so painfully angry at him. That _bastard._

"John, you look ready to pass out, maybe you should sit down..." Sherlock gently pushed me towards a chair. Oh _now_ he cared did he?!

Without even thinking, I punched him in the face, knocking him to the floor with a satisfactory _crunch._ "Sit down?! You think I should _sit down?!_ After all this time, you've been alive and you didn't even tell me! Now you come back and tell me to sit down!?" I seethed, this was... Sherlock could be callous and unfeeling sometimes, but this; _this_ was the worst thing he'd ever done. I'd seen him say some awful things to people, but never had I thought he would have been capable of _this._

"J-John? I-I thought you would have been happy. I-I thought you wanted me to come back, you said you did at my grave. You asked for a miracle, for me to not be dead, I hear-" I cut off him talking by punching him again, grabbing him by the lapels of that ridiculous coat of his.

"You _what?_ You heard me say those things? You stood there and heard me say those things, saw how much pain I was in and you said _nothing?_ " I growled, fighting the urge to punch him again, his lip was already bleeding. _Good._

"I-I couldn't. I-it was a part of the-" I cut him off again.

"What? Part of what? What could have possibly been so important that you couldn't tell me that you were alive?! You stood there and watched me grieve at your own grave, and you didn't say a word! You didn't give me any indications that you were alive, after seeing me grieve, hearing me _wish_ you alive. Do you know how it feels to mourn someone? Do you know how much it _hurts_ to think that someone you lived with for two years is dead and never coming back? How could you possibly do that to me? How could you be so heartless? We all mourned you, thought you dead and gone, everyone was so upset, and we barely got through things! And you just watched on like it was nothing, playing hide and seek, like we meant _nothing_ to you. You _bastard,_ you utter _heartless bastard._ " I felt tears well up in my eyes, feeling stupid for believing that Sherlock was dead. It was _Sherlock,_ like he'd actually commit suicide; he was too fond of himself to give into something as ‘boring’ as _suicide_.

"I nearly got in contact so many times John, please believe me, I nearly got in contact so many times." Sherlock insisted weakly.

"Well you didn't, you didn't give us any indication that you were alive. God, we all thought that we'd caused you to commit suicide Sherlock! I thought I made you jump off a roof because I called you a machine!” I’d honestly thought he’d jumped off a roof because I’d called him a machine, because I’d been horrible to him. I’d actually thought _I’d caused him to commit suicide_ because I hadn’t taken his emotions into account before, taken his heartless nature as the truth to his emotional depth.

“Turns out I was more right than I thought." I shoved him away, getting up and storming out of the restaurant, so _angry._

"John wait! I can explain! I can explain it all!" Sherlock raced after me, grabbing my arm to stop me from walking away.

"Don't touch me! Don't you dare touch me!" I yanked away from him, not wanting him anyway near me right now or ever again if I could help it.

"But... I thought you'd be happy to see me." Sherlock whispered, a hurt look on his face, but it was nothing to how I'd felt for the past few years.

"Well I guess you were wrong Sherlock." I turned to walk away, sensing him going to follow, "No, don't follow me either. I don't want to deal with you right now. Just leave me alone." I warned him, turning round before he could say anything else, convince me that it was for the 'greater good' or whatever bullshit he was spinning this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you for all the kudos, and the one bookmark too, it means a hell of a lot to me to see that! If you want to leave a comment and don't have an account you can always tweet me @corruptedpov or leave a message in my tumblr ask box - effulgentcorruptedpov. Comments mean the world to me and I like to know what you guys are thinking about this fic, so any comments would be greatly appreciated!


	5. Chapter 5

4 Sherlock's POV

I didn't... I didn't understand. I thought John would have been happy to see me, that he'd enjoy my reveal. He'd said at my grave that he wanted me not to be dead, why was his acting like this? _Because he hates you, moron. You screwed up royally this time._

My phone pinged, breaking me from my thoughts. It was my old phone noise, latest model, but set up to match my old one. I hurried to pull it out of my pocket, just in case it was John reconsidering, but it was only Mycroft.

_'Come on now brother mine. Other people to see.'_ His text read, a blacked out car driving up beside me. I snapped myself out of it, ducking into the car, groaning when my body protested. John had hit me rather hard, and my back had really not liked being smacked to the floor, pain throbbing again like I was still being whipped.

"Lestrade or Mrs Hudson, Mr Holmes?" The driver asked, patiently not saying anything at my state. I could feel tears in my eyes and knew I was sitting awkwardly to control the pain.

"Lestrade. He'll be at Scotland Yard." I answered, wanting to go home and hide. But then I'd see Mrs Hudson and have to repeat the process of revealing I was alive again. Hopefully she wouldn't hit me, I was 67% sure she wouldn't hit me, though I couldn't be completely certain. Lestrade on the other hand, I had no clue. He was like John, not with as many anger issues, but he had known me longer than John, would he be even angrier at me? I wasn't sure what he was going to do, had no way to calculate it. Either way, I'd like to get his possible rejection out of the way first before I went home, to the possible nicer reception of Mrs Hudson.

The car drive over was made in silence, where I sent off a text to Molly to tell her I had returned. She didn't need to be seen, she knew I was alive anyway, had helped me fake the death certificate. So she only needed a text, it was John, Lestrade and Mrs Hudson I needed to see more. Though after that encounter with John, I didn't have a clue on how this was going to act out, I was rather scared. I was ashamed to admit it, but I was scared that Lestrade was going to punch me in the face too...

Oh was I actually scared of him? Really? I'd faced down assassins and torturers without blinking, had just yesterday been running around a Serbian bunker killing everybody in sight in cold blood! A detective inspector of Scotland Yard was scaring me now? _Pathetic._ Oh shh!

"Sir, if you don't mind me asking, are you okay?" The driver asked as we pulled up in the garage.

"Fine, wait here. I'll probably be back in about ten minutes." _Possibly with a broken nose and bleeding back... If it's not already bleeding._ I was fine damn it. It hurt, but my back was a part of my transport, therefore it was fine! I could fight through the pain easy enough, I survived the torture that gave me the wounds in the first place, I could survive in _London_ with them stitched back into place!

I let out a small growling sound, jogging to go and hide in the shadows, so Lestrade didn't see me straight away. He'd be clocking off round about now, if Mycroft's file on him was still correct, if it wasn't, I could put this off for a while... And have something to finally hold over the assholes head for a while, seeing as letting me rot in a Serbian cell wasn't doing much.

But unfortunately, or fortunately, whichever way you look at it, Lestrade came down to the parking lot a few minutes later, looking around a bit when he heard the sound of a car ticking over. I watched him spot the blacked out car and groan.

"Mycroft? What could you possibly want with me after two years?" He asked, heading towards the car, I had to act now!

"Mycroft isn't the one who wants to see you today Lestrade." I put on a confident mask, stepping out of the shadows, trying to fight down any trace of fear in seeing the Detective Inspector.

"Oh you bastard, you're actually alive. You didn't actually die in that fall, you absolute bastard!" Lestrade was 20% surprised, 10% shocked and... 70% angry.

"Things had to be dealt with Graham, but-" I got cut off by another punch, sending me again sprawling to the floor, pain flaring white hot again.

"Do you have any idea what- Sherlock really? I thought you were dead! All of us thought you were dead! I thought that I'd, damn it Sherlock I cannot believe you've just done that! Two years you've been away and now you've come back just like that? You can't just do that you know!" Lestrade ranted... _Another one hates you now, good going with that infallible plan of yours!_ Shut up. "Don't tell me to shut up Sherlock; you've caused some serious damage around here! I nearly lost my job because of you, John nearly- Does John even know you're alive?!" Lestrade continued, running his hands through his hair.

"He knows, had a similar reaction to you actually." I pulled myself up, massaging my soon-to-be bruised cheek, but otherwise holding back any urges to fight back. **_London, this was Lestrade. Not torture room in Serbia, or Korea, or anywhere else._**

"I bet he did, you damn well deserve it too! You had us all mourning you great dolt! Even made _Donovan_ cry, Anderson has lost his job due to being consumed by guilt because of your stunt out there, John's barely spoken to any of us since you jumped, Molly's been out of sorts ever since too. Did you even think Sherlock? Really?" Lestrade continued to rant, not really stopping for any explanation. At least he didn't hit me again. _Not that you deserve to not be hit again. People have lost jobs over you._ Ugh I didn't want to hear this right now!

"I'm sorry, I just... It needed to be done." I eventually managed to apologise, hoping it would do _some_ good in the situation.

"I know, I know. Doesn't stop me being angry at you but, give me a few days. Please, just give me a few days and then I'll decide on whether or not I need to beat the living daylights out of you or give you a hug. Or for that matter give you a warm meal, you look like you need one." He finally seemed to look at me directly, taking in the skeletal form.

"I'm fine, nothing I can't fix." I told him, feeling some kind of warmth return to me at his slight show of concern. After John's display of anger, I hadn't really expected any concern from anybody.

"Good, good. Just give me a few days. But... I'm kinda glade you didn't actually commit suicide, it scares a lot of people doing that okay?" Lestrade didn't touch me, but gave me a small smile, before I turned back to the car and getting in, hoping that Mrs Hudson took it as well as Lestrade did and didn't kick me out into the streets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thanks for all the kudos! And a quick reminder that I'm open to all constructive criticism, or any thoughts you have on this fic! If you don't have an account you can tweet me @corruptedpov and my tumblr ask box is always open, my screen name there is effulgentcorruptedpov if you fancy dropping a comment there too! :)


	6. Chapter 6

5 John's POV

That _bastard,_ I couldn't believe what he just did! He just came back from the dead, just like that, like it was a _totally okay_ thing to do! Sherlock could be callous and unfeeling, but this, _this_ was far too far. He'd made me think that he was dead, that he'd committed suicide! He'd jumped off a building right in front of me, made  me think that he'd jumped to kill himself, then run off to go God knew what, to arrive back into my life like that I'd jump into his arms and welcome him!

Well, he was mistake, so far mistaken. I'd _never_ forgive him for that, never in my life would I forget what Sherlock had done, and I was never going to forgive him. He'd done a lot in the past that I shouldn't have forgiven him for doing but had done, but this time, this was never going to be forgiven. I was disgusted in him for doing something so horrid, for making us all mourn, and believe that he'd committed suicide, making me believe that I could have stopped him. For _two years_ I'd blamed myself for Sherlock jumping, feeling so bad for calling him a machine, thinking that I should have been nicer to him, told him he was amazing more often. Turns out I shouldn't have bothered; he didn't even look like he'd earned a _scratch_ from the fall or the past two years.

In that moment, I decided that I _hated_ him, absolutely despised him. To think I'd defended him, tried my best to make people believe that Sherlock was a good man, much more than the sociopath they took him for. But no, he was a sociopath, a completely unfeeling, unsympathetic sociopath. I'd wanted to not believe him when he called himself that, wanted to defend him against the label, but that was the last time that was ever happening again. He could beg and plead me to come back, Mycroft could threaten, but I wasn't going back to that asshole. And I hoped that nobody else did either. He didn't deserve it, not after all he'd done.

With a groan I flopped onto my bed, putting my head in my hands, trying to calm down my anger. The man I used to happily call my best friend had returned from the dead, revealing that he hadn't actually committed suicide and was so callous in his reveal, like I'd _enjoy_ seeing him alive again. This morning I'd wanted him alive, wanted one more miracle from him, wanted him to be not dead. Now I was so angry that I'd been lied to for two years. Sherlock was alive and completely and utterly fine, hadn't bothered to tell anyone and expected me to welcome him with open arms.

How did life turn out like that? How could things have been done so cruelly, turning my whole world upside down again like this? I felt lost now that I knew that Sherlock was alive. Was the last two years I'd spent trying to clear his name been pointless? Had anything he'd said on the roof top been true? How long had he been planning this for? What was the point of it all?! Did I even want to know? All I knew was that Moriarty had shot himself in the head on that roof, and then Sherlock had jumped. I'd managed to come up with the scenario that Sherlock jumped to escape boredom now that Moriarty was gone. He'd have no-one to chase after, or no-one as interesting at least. I'd heard him say before that he'd do anything to escape being bored, so I'd thought that he'd jumped to save himself from ever being bored ever again. Then had blamed myself for not keeping him occupied enough, for thinking that maybe if I'd shown him that I was a good enough friend he'd have decided to stick around.

But now to know that Sherlock had jumped and somehow survived, it made me feel like an idiot. I shouldn't have believed that he was dead in the first place. This was _Sherlock_ we were on about; he liked himself far too much to kill himself, no matter how bored he got... Maybe this had been an elaborate experiment of his; see how everybody would grieve his greatness if he died. Oh my God, that was probably what he was doing, faked his death and went gallivanting around the world solving other cases, all the while collecting data on us, his _friends,_ to see how we all reacted to him being dead. That cold _bastard,_ using us like that. I hated him, and I was never going to forgive him for it, no matter what explanation he gave me for his absence, not when I knew that the asshole probably enjoyed watching us all in pain, or at least didn't even think about how we'd feel at him dying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thanks for the kudos and the comments, I say it a lot but it does mean a lot to me!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> QUICK NOTICE: I'm starting university tomorrow (eeek) so I may not be as regular with updating this fic because of university, so I apologise now for any interruption in the updating. I've got a lot of this written though so I've mostly just got to proof read it and post, so I should be okay, but I'm not sure yet, I shall let you know as soon as possible!

6 Sherlock's POV

"I'm sorry Mrs Hudson." I sighed; resisting the urge to pull my coat around myself like it was armour. I couldn't even look at my land lady, couldn't stand to see if she was angry or not. I suspected she would be, though if she actually showed it was another matter. _She'll be so mad; she's never going to let you stay here again._

"It's okay dear, I'm sure you did it for good reason. Is everything okay now?" She surprised me by sounding very sincere with her words.

"Yeah, yeah everything is fine now." I winced at the words, knowing that everything was _not_ fine right now. Moriarty's network wasn't a thing anymore, and I was now back in London, but other than that, everything felt off kilter. John's anger at me still left a painful hole in my chest, and Lestrade's punch was still making my jaw ache, just like the rest of my body. To be perfectly honest, I just wanted to crawl into bed and not move, I was exhausted and all these emotions were not doing my energy levels any good. _You deserved all those hits. Whatever made you think you could be completely forgiven for all the lies you told?!_

"Good, I'm glad about that. Nasty business with that man, threatening you and killing all those people, I'm glad he's gone, and very glad to have you back." Mrs Hudson lifted my face to look at her, seeing her smile softly at me.

"Thanks, he's all taken care of, I assure you." I promised, just about the one thing I could be sure of right now. I wanted to enquire about whether or not I still had my flat and if Mrs Hudson would mind if I carried on living here, but after so many things had gone wrong this evening, I wasn't all too keen on asking her and tempting fate.

"Good, now you're looking thin Sherlock, and dead on your feet, I'll make you a nice cup of tea and I'm sure there are some biscuits around here somewhere that you can have to eat, just give me a second to find them." She turned around to flick the kettle on.

"No, no, it's okay Mrs Hudson. I'm fine," Actually, I hadn't eaten in at least six hours and should probably have eaten something to make up for being starved for days on end in Serbia, but I didn't feel hungry in the slightest. Maybe all this business coming back from the dead was affecting me. "I'd rather have a lay down for a bit, jet lag and all that." And to check over my back, I was pretty sure it was bleeding.

"Of course, where are you staying tonight, because your flat is still the same as it ever was. I haven't had the heart to clear it out or change anything so it's all ready for you upstairs unless you have other accommodation." Mrs Hudson looked almost like she really wanted me to stay here for the night. I tried to not relax in relief, I still had my flat, something was still the same, not everything was thrown off kilter.

"I'd love to stay here tonight, if you don't mind having me." I answered, feeling like I wanted to hug her for being so kind and understanding and not actually punching me in the face. _You still deserve another punch for all of this._ I probably did, but, maybe I could find something to make up for all of it? I didn't really know what else to do... _Has someone finally grown a conscience? Wow, bit late there._

"I'd never mind having you here Sherlock, for all your foibles and eccentricities, I couldn't imagine having another tenant. So up you go, you look like you could do with a good sleep." Mrs Hudson gave me back my house key, following me upstairs to 221B.

I could have cried walking inside again, seeing that literally everything was still in its place, all the books were stacked up high, chairs in their place in front of the fire, smiley face spray painted on the walls, complete with bullet holes. There was a layer of dust over everything, but I didn't care, I was back in my flat, in a safe place, _my_ safe place. Complete with comfy bed and actual pyjamas that didn't rub against my skin, periodic table on the wall. This must have been Heaven, I was sure of it.

"I'll have a dust round and get some food in tomorrow, have a good night dear." Mrs Hudson smiled one last time before leaving me to my own devices again.

Immediately I raced into my room, picking out some pyjamas to sleep in before heading to the shower. I wasn't about to ruin sheets with blood so I had to at least check and wash off anything nasty first. It soon become apparent that something had been jogged at some point in the evening, as I pulled off my coat and jacket, feeling my shirt sticking uncomfortably to my back. With as gentle movements as I could, I peeled off the once crisp white shirt, seeing it now marred with red splotches, right where all my stitches were. I must have bled through the bandages... Damn.

It was incredibly awkward trying to pull the bandages off, despite my long arms. But I eventually managed before stepping into the shower, feeling hot water cascade over my body for the first time in two years. The enjoyment lasted a split second, because as soon as the water hit my back I nearly doubled over in searing pain, gasping out loud at the sheer _agony_ the water produced.

_The whip whizzed through the air, the sound almost pleasant before it cracked against my back. I screamed in pain, but refused to say a word in reply to the shouts of Serbian. It felt like my entire body was on fire as my knees buckled, yanking on my chained arms as I struggled to stay upright despite the exhaustion._

I barely caught myself before I fell over, water falling over my face.

_I couldn't breathe, no air! Too much water! Far too much water! Drowning, sure I was going to drown!_

I gasped in air, pushing myself far away from the water, hitting the cold tiles and biting back another scream of agony. No, no I was _not_ doing this; I was _not_ going to remember this now! I was not in Serbia, I was home, it was over. Everyone was dead, everyone had been taken care of, nobody was going to get me here. _Because you killed them all._ Yes, because I killed them all. _In cold blood._ Because it was needed! It had been a needed thing! I wouldn't have done it otherwise! _Sure you wouldn't have._ I wouldn't!

"Sherlock, is everything okay in there?" Mrs Hudson called in from outside the door, her gentle knocks breaking whatever the hell my brain was doing.

"F-Fine! Everythings fine! Just... The water came out cold, was a bit of a shock!" I lied, hoping she took the bait.

"Oh the showers been doing that for a while now I was supposed to get someone round to fix it, but I keep on forgetting!" Mrs Hudson laughed to herself, before leaving me again.

I didn't bother showering again, just hurried out of there, reaching in gingerly to turn the water off before towelling off as quickly and as painlessly as possible before grabbing my pyjamas and hauling them on. As soon as I did I felt blood start to seep through the back of my tshirt so I yanked it back off again, gaining another lightning bolt of pain shoot down my spine. I should really bandage the wounds back up again, but how? I couldn't reach properly, and I couldn't call Mrs Hudson back again, I didn't want her to know what happened... Could I call John? _What, and get the living daylights beaten out of you again? Or scare him into forgiveness because he feels too guilty to leave you alone when he sees what you've gone through?_ That was a point...

I sighed, giving up and binning the shirt and putting the tshirt into the wash in the vein hope that the smaller stains would come out... The bed though, that was going to end up getting blood on, nothing I could do to stop that right at this very moment. _You'd think of something if you were clever enough._ Yeah, probably would, but right now I just wanted to sleep. I'd had roughly ten hours in the past twenty four, and no clue when I'd last slept before that. Right now I just needed to sleep, that was all. I'd be fine in the morning, I was sure. Yeah, I'd be fine in the morning...

I didn't know how wrong I was.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> QUICK NOTICE ABOUT UNI TIMINGS AND UPDATES: My timetable isn't as bad/hectic as first thought it turns out! I'm only in for three days a week, two of which is only morning sessions, so I'll be able to come home and update like normal! So if I'm very lucky, coursework withstanding, I should be able to update on a three day basis as I have been with this fic anyway! That may change depending on work load and how much time I get to write fics instead of coursework, but I should still have at least one day a week where I can write/update, so it's not as bad as first thought! wooo!

7 Sherlock's POV

"Are you okay dear? You look rather pale." Mrs Hudson worried over tea the next morning. I held in a wince at her words, knowing that I looked like death warmed up. I hadn't slept at all last night, after having been plagued with more flashbacking nightmares alongside the agony my back was causing me. It hadn't been that bad yesterday morning after it had been bandaged, I swore it had been manageable, but after John had attacked me and Lestrade had also thrown a punch, it seemed to want to give me _hell_ all night.

My sheets were ruined now, but I'd already disposed of them and made sure that I wasn't still bleeding before putting on a dark green shirt and black suit jacket in a desperate bid to look normal. Well... _more normal_ than I did upon giving up and crawling out of bed.

"I'm fine, just a bit tired." _And lonely. The flat was silent this morning._ That it was, but, that would change soon, right? John would forgive me and he'd move back in, he was bound to. _Highly unlikely, you're supposed to be a genius, think about it for a minute._ Nope, was not going to believe that. John had to come back, he simply had to.

"Oh I can imagine! All that travelling around, moving from place to place, you never sleep on a case do you? Or eat for that matter... Have some more biscuits Sherlock, I'm sure you're starved!" Mrs Hudson handed me the plate, breaking the voice in my heads comments for a minute. I took a few and chewed on them for a few minutes, despite not actually feeling very hungry right now. I hadn't felt hungry since leaving Serbia, which was strange, I was sure it would be the other way round if anything...

"Have you told John yet?" Mrs Hudson continued, I'd missed half of her chatter again due to putting her on semi-mute while thinking.

"Told him what?" I asked, hoping she didn't mean telling him I was alive.

"That you're alive of course! I'm surprised he isn't the first one you told really, he was awfully upset when you jumped you know, sat in this chair for days on end, not eating or anything. We were all so worried for him, thought he may try and off himself for a while, but he eventually managed to get up and move on, he seemed much happier when he moved out, I guess leaving the memories behind helped him find his footing again. But while he was here, oh he wasn't in any working order, worse than when you first met. I was sure he was limping again for a while." Mrs Hudson waffled on, making my stomach lurch at the idea of what I'd done, "For a while he was hell bent of proving the papers wrong. He was always searching for ways to prove that you were a genius, Lestrade helped of course and I'm sure you know that they've now restored your reputation to what it once was. But that seemed to be the only thing keeping him going really, proving your innocence, believing in Sherlock Holmes." She continued, _honestly, you thought he'd be okay? Would just pick himself up and continue life without you? Moron!_

"I, I didn't realise I'd cause him so much hurt, any of you that much hurt." I whispered, wanting to sink into my chair at the thought, the only thing stopping me was knowing that leaning weight on my back was going to feel like lightning bolts up my spine.

"You did Sherlock, caused all of us a lot of pain. Lestrade nearly lost his job; John was so depressed he barely left the house so he too lost his job. Molly was crying, I barely knew what to do with myself, your brother, well, remained as stoic as ever but he was very clearly concerned too. All of us were heartbroken you know, blamed ourselves you see. John blamed himself the most I think, thought he was at fault because he'd said some bad things about you a few times, hadn't been kind enough. I think I heard him at one point beg that you'd turned to drugs again instead of jumping, because he could fix drugs, could clean you off them and all the rest of it, but he couldn't bring a dead body back to life." Mrs Hudson fixed me with a look that clearly stated that she did not approve of my actions whatsoever. _If she was a less understanding woman who you hadn't helped in the past she'd have kicked you out by now, or at least given you notice to leave._

"I didn't know... I wasn't..." I trailed off; I could imagine all of that, especially after having seen John's reaction to my grave, begging me not to be dead.

"Thinking straight? Clearly not, but what matters is that you're back now. So drink and eat up, I want those biscuits gone by the time I come back with some shopping." Mrs Hudson got up, putting on a smile.

"Wait! I'll... I'll come with you, help you carry the food, cause of your hip, it's gotten worse over the past two years." I had to make it up, had to make things a _little_ better. I was overcome with guilt, I needed to do _something_ to help out a bit, prove I wasn't a complete dickhead anymore.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for all the kudos!   
> Also, the person who messaged me on tumblr about beta reading, I don't know if tumblr swallowed my reply or not but I'd love to discuss beta reading further (I've never had one before so I don't have a clue on how it works, sorry about that) if you're still willing to beta read! So could you please message me again, either on here or on tumblr again so we could discuss further? Thanks in advance!

8 Sherlock's POV

Going around the shops was difficult; I hadn't been in such a crowded area in _years._ For two years I'd been isolated from main society, only infiltrating bases of Moriarty's web. I hadn't needed shops or largely crowded parts of towns, let alone _London_ crowds. Hell I'd been chained up in a cell for weeks! The crowds were almost overwhelming as they surrounded me and Mrs Hudson. So many deductions, so many observations firing at me all at once.

**Married. Two children. Diabetic. Divorced. No children. Perfect health. Dying family member. Secret tattoo. Didn't eat breakfast this morning. Nervous about something.**

I started feeling nauseous and light headed, my chest constricting in panic as the never ending deductions hit me like a freight train. It had been far too long since I'd been surrounded by people; I'd lost the ability to refine it, slow down the constant stream of useless information.

"Sherlock, are you okay?" Mrs Hudson asked, hand on my arm.

**Three different types of deodorant, hiding chronic sweat problem. Waterproof case on his phone, having an affair. Secretly gay, no bisexual. Three cats at home.**

"Fine, just fine." I gritted my teeth, forcing myself to breathe and stand up straight. _Not working Sherlock. It's getting too much. Stupid twat, you used to walk around here like you owned the place, now you're being swayed by a supermarket crowd._ No! I was fine. Just think of the Periodic Table, something solid, something undoubtedly real. Something I _knew_ was there.

"Are you sure, you're looking peaky again. You shouldn't have come with me, you're going to wear yourself out and you've only been back a day!" _You shouldn't have come back at all!_ Hydrogen Helium Lithium Beryllium...

"I'm fine Mrs Hudson, really. Come on; let's just get some food in." I pushed it all out, elements, chemistry, pure chemistry.

**Car broke down. Suffering with heart condition, doesn't know. Had a fight with the wife the night before. Getting cold feet about marriage. Just got a puppy.**

_You're losing it!_ No I damn well wasn't! I could survive Serbia, I could survive a simple shopping trip damn it! Just push the trolley, think of elements. Manganese Iron Cobalt Nickel. **Hasn't slept in the three days. Had cough for three weeks. Having an affair with the secretary.** No! Elements weren't working, why weren't the elements working?! My head was spinning with all the deductions, all the noise and light of it. Such a huge amount of information, colours and sound! I'd been in the dark for so long.

_"WAKE UP! WAKE UP!" Serbian voices screamed, light shining into my eyes, breaking the little sleep I'd gotten. I was so tired, so damn tired. I just wanted to close my eyes for a **minute.**_

Breathe, calm down, elements. Chemistry, think of the chemistry and breathe! It wasn't working, I couldn't do this! I frantically searched my mind palace for something, _anything_ to help me filter it all out and calm down. What I wouldn't have given for John to be here and stand there with his calming presence. _Not happening moron, he hates you._ No, he'd come round, he was going to come round again. I was sure of it. _Not likely! See how he reacted, he's **never** coming back! _Fine then Redbeard! Give me Redbeard with his soft fur and his happy bark. Licking my face every time I came home and curling up next to me in my bed. Company when nobody else was.

Ah, I could breathe, I could breathe. Barely, but I could breathe. Now just follow Mrs Hudson, push the trolley and _get out._ I could do that; I could do that just fine. Breathe, Redbeard, breathe, Redbeard. A constant cycle until we got back in the taxi, laden with shopping. Breathe, I could breathe, I could breathe. Everything was okay. _But who's the taxi driver? Is he another minion sent in to kill you? Was anybody in that shop doing recon work on you?_ No it was over! It was all over, I'd killed them all; I'd gotten rid of them all! _Of course you have, shot, strangled and stabbed them all to death. Murderer._

The taxi eventually pulled up at Baker Street and I did my best to not grab all the bags and just _run_ upstairs. I couldn't give anything away, I was damn well _fine._ Nothing I couldn't handle, I was safe, I was completely safe. I was _home;_ I didn't need to think about staying alive, the best ways to kill people. All I needed to do now was deduce things, solve crimes again. _If you're allowed back again. Lestrade won't be forgiving you for a while, if ever._ Oh shut up!

"Sherlock, no need to be rude!" Mrs Hudson made me jump again. Damn it I forgot she was still here.

"Sorry, sorry I didn't... Sorry." I didn't know what to say. I hadn't meant to tell her to shut up, but this _voice,_ it just would not shut up. Everything I did, every fear I tried to repress, that voice just said it. All the time, commenting on everything I didn't want to hear. What made it worse; it was John's voice telling me all of this, forcing me to listen to it.

"I understand dear, stress makes us say bad things. Now try and get some sleep, eat some of this too, it'll do you some good. I'll be downstairs if you need me." Mrs Hudson patted my cheek, leaving me in the silent flat, a feeling of loss settling in my stomach.

I looked over to John's chair, wishing more than anything he was still in it, reading the paper and drinking tea like any other normal day. He'd know what to do, stop me feeling so lost, safer in my own flat. The large windows were starting to give me the jitters, they were such large vantage points, anybody would have clear shots to shoot me. _No,_ I was really not going through this, I was safe. I'd gotten rid of all threats; I was not in danger, hell I wasn't even officially announced as _alive_ yet. Mycroft was still sorting out the paperwork! Who would have known I was here now? Nobody!

I let out a groan, running my hands through my hair in frustration, wanting nothing more than to have John here and help me feel normal. But he wasn't, despite my want for him to be. Though, could I text him? Maybe I could text him, ask how he was, show that I was thinking of him. Maybe I could just send him a text, show that I wanted to make up with him? _Good luck with that._ I was going to need it.


	10. Chapter 10

9 Sherlock's POV

My hands wanted to shake as I picked up my phone to send a text, but I refused to let them. I was texting _John_ of all people; I could text serial killers without a problem but not my best friend? _Who currently hates you and wishes you stayed dead._ Well, I guessed, but still, it was John! _Who called you a machine and a heartless bastard. It's doubtful that he wants you to text him._ Well I had to try! I had to try and make amends, apologise for my mistakes and show remorse, if I didn't he'd only see me as an unfeeling machine. _Like he doesn't already._ Oh shut up!

I groaned and fell into my chair, feeling dizzy from the sudden movement. Oh, I needed to eat something, but I felt too sick. John would have had a fit if he knew I hadn't eaten in two days even though I wasn't on a case. _Except he's not here and he doesn't care. Despite being a doctor he doesn't care about you anymore._ Oh whatever, I was texting him and seeing for myself!

... But what did I text him? The idea of sending a text saying 'Hey how are you?' felt really out of sorts for me, I'd never asked anybody how they were as a conversation starter. Mostly I started conversations by talking about cases, or asking things that directly related to important things. _No wonder you have no friends._ I just didn't have any practice! If I had practice, maybe I'd get better at it and it wouldn't be weird. I had promised myself to be a better person during my time away, maybe I could start now?

Still, asking how John was may have seemed too out of character for me, like I wanted something from him, like instant forgiveness. Could I start with a joke? That was still a casual thing, a thing that we did from time to time, it was supposed to break the ice after all... Yes, a joke would be good, but what about? I looked up for inspiration, glancing at the fridge... The fridge, milk! We were always out of milk; could there be a joke in there somewhere? Probably!

'John, we're out of milk! - SH' I texted, hoping it would make John laugh, remember good, well not exactly _good,_ memories of living here with me. But it could be a joke, couldn't it? It could be funny, and break the tension and hatred just a _little_ so we could talk some more, right?

'Are you serious right now? I don't fucking care about the bloody milk you ignorant twat! If you think I'm going to waltz over there and get you some goddamn milk you are sorely mistaken! I'm not your slave, go and bug someone else!' John replied... Huh? I wasn't telling him to get milk, I was joking.

'It was a joke John, I have lots of milk - SH' Maybe I needed to clarify it?

'Then why the fuck are you texting me that you've got none? What the fuck is wrong with you?! I thought I told you to leave me alone!' John replied, _looks like you blew that one._

'I'm sorry, I was just trying to be funny - SH' I answered, feeling my heart sink through the floor. I'd just wanted to make a joke, have a conversation that made John laugh again. I'd caused him so much pain; I wanted to make him happy again.

'Your idea of jokes are NOT funny you dickhead. You hurt innocent people's feelings by insulting them, mock others for not being as intelligent as you and then make everyone mourn you for being dead when you're off gallivanting around the world! You are not at all funny; now delete my number - I'm not coming crawling back to you so you can walk all over me again.' John's text practically screamed rage... But I hadn't mocked or hurt anyone for a laugh, really, I hadn't! I just, sometimes I said the wrong thing, or said bad things to get information out of them to hurry a case along. It wasn't for entertainment.

I tried explaining that in another text, willing my hands not to shake so I could get the words out correctly, wishing I was better at this. I was trying to apologise, trying to make things right, make up for the pain I'd caused, but I didn't know how. But I was trying, wasn't that better than nothing?

'I don't give a shit Sherlock! You can't lie to me about these things; I lived with you for two years. You take whatever you want from someone without a care on what it would do to them and dump them by the wayside when you're done with them. You've always said you're a sociopath, and you proved it every single day. Now DELETE MY NUMBER AND STOP CONTACTING ME. I. AM. NOT. COMING. BACK. TO. YOU. EVER. AGAIN.' John answered, I never, I didn't... I didn't have anything to say to that. _He's hated you from the beginning, the absolute beginning. And now he despises you._

'I'm sorry, really I am! But it was all for good reason! If you let me explain the fall will all make sense - SH' I begged.

No reply.                                        

'John I really can explain - SH'

No reply.

'John? - SH' I tried again, waiting another twenty minutes before giving up. He wasn't going to reply again. _He's **never** going to talk to you ever again. Welcome back to the land of the living, you're still alone in the world. _

The thought of John never wanting to talk to me and being alone again made it difficult to breathe. I didn't want this! I wanted everything back to normal! Cases, running around London, Chinese take away, _John being here._ I'd done all of this to keep him safe, keep him happy, why hadn't that worked?! Why wasn't he happy now? I knew he'd be upset because I was away, but I hadn't thought it would be like this. I'd thought that I'd come home and he'd welcome me back with open arms, still in Baker Street, watching those day time TV shows that drove me up the wall. The only reason why I'd gotten through the torture and the killing was the idea of coming home to John, continuing our lives knowing he was safe from Moriarty's snipers and other assassins. I'd done this all for him, and now I was alone, all of it thrown back in my face again.

So much pain had been caused by my fall, so much more than I'd expected, I couldn’t carry on knowing that I'd caused so much despair for my friends. There had to be a way I could make everything up, or at least help everyone heal a bit faster, or make their lives better after two bad years. But what? I couldn’t apologise because John wasn't paying attention, I didn't know about Lestrade's feelings towards my return yet. Mrs Hudson seemed okay but I didn't know if that was out of gratitude for ensuring her husband's death years ago. I needed to do something to make their lives better somehow, make them forget the pain I caused, or at least ease it, without getting fully involved as that just elicited more anger... But _what?!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you for all the kudos, and the two bookmarks, it does mean a lot! But a quick reminder to say that I'm completely open to constructive criticism or any opinions you have on this fic, and that you can tweet me @corruptedpov or send me a message on tumblr effulgentcorruptedpov if you don't have an account on here. :)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos on the last chapter! And I apologise for going a bit too OOC with Sherlock in the last chapter, I'm still learning with these characters and their issues, so I do appreciate the comments telling me that you didn't agree with Sherlock sending those texts. I was trying to go for a 'Sherlock trying to make a connection with John that didn't mention The Fall and utterly failing' based on some experiences I've had in the past with trying to make jokes and utterly failing at it. This chapter covers John's POV of Sherlock's texts, so try and ignore Sherlock's texts and more on John's feelings if you wish. Again, sorry about the OOC Sherlock, I've added that tag to the list just in case it happens again, and I hope to improve on making him less OOC in the future! Any hints/tips/ideas on what you would have made him say instead are welcome!

10 John's POV

After Sherlock turned up, I threw myself into my work; refusing to think about anything he'd done, refused to even _think_ of him. What had he been thinking? Really, had he seriously thought he could jump off a roof, make us all think he was dead for two years and just turn up like that and pretend that life continued on normally? Was this all just some sort of experiment to him? It was a low blow, a _very_ low blow, even for Sherlock. I'd been such an idiot to even daring to think that the twat had _actually_ committed suicide; his ego would have never let him go out like that. The publicity surrounding it was so him, the committing suicide though, seriously not his style. He was far too stubborn to let anybody win against him. I should have seen that, why didn't I see that?

Suddenly, my phone beeped, breaking me from my thoughts. Maybe it was Greg, after he'd been informed of Sherlock's resurrection, probably needing a drink. I wouldn't have said no either, a stiff drink sounded rather appealing right now if I was honest.

'John, we're out of milk! - SH' The text read, he what? Did he honestly just text me that?! That little- Did he think that this was all one big joke?! Did he _really_ think that this was one massive joke, that I was stupid enough to go and get him damn milk simply because he was out of it?!

'Are you serious right now? I don't fucking care about the bloody milk you ignorant twat! If you think I'm going to waltz over there and get you some goddamn milk you are sorely mistaken! I'm not your slave, go and bug someone else!' I replied, seeing red with anger at him. Had Sherlock seriously thought that _that_ was a good way to talk to me, after everything we'd been through? Did he honestly think that that was a good way to get into my good books? I'd told him to leave me alone and he was bugging me with this, really, who did he think I was?

'It was a joke John, I have lots of milk - SH' The next came through, _what?!_

'Then why the fuck are you texting me that you've got none? What the fuck is wrong with you?! I thought I told you to leave me alone!' I growled as I texted, how was that a joke? Was that honestly Sherlock's idea of a joke? What kind of a joke was that exactly?! I certainly wasn't laughing! Was he laughing at me right now? Probably was, the dick. Laughing at how I believed his death, mourned over him for two years while he played hide and seek, and was probably now testing just how much I could take before I snapped. Living up to that sociopath label he'd given himself. _The Work and science is what matters John, science helps with The Work, anything else is just pointless and boring._ Apparently messing with other's heads was not above that precious science.

'I'm sorry, I was just trying to be funny - SH' Oh wow, bang up job there, I was in _hysterics,_ totally not seeing red with anger, feeling the need to punch something, preferably him.

'Your idea of jokes are NOT funny you dickhead. You hurt innocent people's feelings by insulting them, mock others for not being as intelligent as you and then make everyone mourn you for being dead when you're off gallivanting around the world! You are not at all funny; now delete my number I'm not coming crawling back to you so you can walk all over me again.' I'd had enough, had enough of this conversation, and had enough of _him._ He'd dominated my life for years, ruining my dates, nearly getting me fired on several occasions, getting us into situations where we nearly died. And now he was experimenting on me, on all of us, the people who called him their friend, the people who _cared_ about him. I'd had enough of that; I was out of this whole situation. I was not talking to him again. Ever if I could help it.

I chucked my phone onto the table, trying to calm my breathing, knowing that I was not going to do well if I didn't calm down right now. I was just _so angry;_ Sherlock constantly treated me like he could walk right over me, like I was _nothing_ to him. After everything I'd done for him, I'd made sure he slept, fed him up too, tried to make him a better person, stitched him up after he'd hurt himself, helped with his investigations, _cleared his bloody name._ And this was my repayment, being lied to for two years and being mocked for being emotional over it. I wasn't having it, and I was not going to let this take over me either. Sherlock was not going to ruin my life, I was going to delete him from my life completely and he could not persuade me to come back, no matter what he tried to do.

Another three texts came through, interrupting my calm down, racketing up my anger all over again. He wasn't going to stop was, stubborn asshole was not going to stop and leave me alone. Well that was it, I was going to give him another piece of my mind, make sure he didn't come back again.

'I don't give a shit Sherlock! You can't lie to me about these things; I lived with you for two years. You take whatever you want from someone without a care on what it would do to them and dump them by the wayside when you're done with them. You've always said you're a sociopath, and you proved it every single day. Now DELETE MY NUMBER AND STOP CONTACTING ME. I. AM. NOT. COMING. BACK. TO. YOU. EVER. AGAIN.' I sent the text through, throwing my phone against the wall, watching it smash with satisfaction.

There, now how was he going to get hold of me? He couldn't, unless Mycroft gave him the new number. But if he tried, I'd just ignore him. Or tell him to delete my number, not stoop to his level again, never again. And if Mycroft himself came to get me and bully me into being his brother’s handler again, well, I'd show him exactly what I thought of that plan with my fists. Over and over until they got the message, _I was out of this life. I wanted nothing to do with Sherlock Holmes ever again._


	12. Chapter 12

11 Mycroft's POV           

I watched my brother pace up and down in his front room, tugging at his hair with twitching fingers. He was always prone to it when he was frustrated with his situation, and he had every right to be after John Watson's actions. I'd read the texted conversation between the two of them, and while I did agree with John that the text about the milk was rather rude and wrong, I did secretly feel bad for my little brother. He'd only been trying to talk and it had been thrown back into his face... I may have to have a little chat with John Watson soon, straighten out his thoughts, make sure he knew the pain he was causing Sherlock.

Sherlock paced for over an hour, grumbling to himself quietly, so quietly I couldn't even hear him, not even with the powerful microphones I'd had installed in his flat days ago. But eventually he fell down in a corner of the room, running his hands through his messy curls, staring at John's empty chair. He stared at it for so long that I almost thought he'd gone catatonic, but eventually pulled his gaze away, looking down at his phone. He took several deep breathes, before he pressed a few buttons, putting it up to his ear. Then _my_ phone rang.

Sherlock was phoning me, this was new. He always texted, never phoned someone. Texting was always to the point, no room for conversation, could be ignored easier. Ringing someone though, my brother must have been desperate.

"Brother mine, what do I owe this pleasure?" I asked when I picked up the call, playing ignorant to his plight despite having been watching for the past two hours around doing other paperwork.

"I, I think I need your help." Sherlock whispered, sounding like he hated the idea of needing me. Though his tone still sounded like he was desperate and more emotional than usual.

"Oh really, what could you possibly be needing from me?" I debated teasing him and riling him up but decided against it when I noticed the phone was shaking on the video.

"I-I, I messed up. I've messed up really bad and I want to fix it." Sherlock's voice wavered, something I hadn't heard him do genuinely since the age of twelve. _This was desperately wrong._ Especially when he flinched, dealing a particularly hard tug to his curls.

"Alright, I'll send a car." My first thoughts were that he was craving drugs again, it was best to pick him and bring him to my house, or better yet our parents, keep him away from the temptation.

"No! No, I don't need picking up! I'm not going back to drugs! John would-" He winced at the name again; _yes John was going to need a talk._ I'd schedule one in for first thing tomorrow morning, bright and early. "I need your help, to sort some things out... You still have influence over the NHS and New Scotland Yard right? And still have ultimate control over my trust fund, yes?" Sherlock now confused me, what was he planning?

"Of course, you know how much influence I have from my minor position." I nodded despite the fact he couldn't see me.

"Good, good. I need you to put through promotion orders, or do whatever you need to do, to promote Lestrade and John in their jobs. I want; I need you to do that for me. A-And I need you to raise Mrs Hudson's rent too, I don't care by how much, just raise it. I-If you can't take money from the government to pay for John and Lestrade's promotions, use the money from my trust fund, however much is left of it. Just please, promote them." Sherlock sniffled, looking like a scared child on the video feed.

"And why would I do that brother mine?" I questioned, unsure what my brothers motives were behind this. To say the least, he was acting erratically.

"Because, because I've caused so much pain during my absence," another wince, "I didn't know how much pain I caused. I've screwed up everybody's lives, a-and I need to make up for that, give them _some_ happiness in their lives. I haven't, they've been, they grieved for two years over me. Lestrade and John nearly lost their jobs because of my stunt, and now they're _so_ angry, they're so painfully angry. I can't just let that continue, I need to do something to make up for that, without physically seeing them, because I just make them angrier. Please, can you just do that for me? Give them the promotions, some sort of happiness. Use the trust fund if there's no money free; I don't need all of it. It'll go to better use with them." Sherlock explained, fingers still twitching at the side of his head, restraining himself from either tugging or blocking out sound, when there was no sound in the flat apart from him.

"I'm guessing that this act of generosity will be in their full knowledge of who gave them the opportunity?" I asked, unsure of what Sherlock's answer would be. If he was angling for forgiveness then he would want those friends of his to know who gave them the money, but if not, then I had no clue what he was playing at.

"No! No, don't tell them it was me. Just let them think it was just a regular thing. Lestrade and John have been put through so much, I'm sure they deserve promotions." Sherlock nearly fell over with the speed he moved to tell me that, biting back a cry of pain.

"Okay, I'll sort it out for you. I'll have you know that Lestrade hasn't taken a promotion in ten years and so is unlikely to take one now, and John isn't likely to take it either. He seems quite happy with his current position at the surgery; I doubt he'll want to be moved about." I warned, in case this didn't go to the way Sherlock was planning.

"I don't care, please, just do it. Just offer them it at least, so they can feel at least slightly good about themselves. I can't, I can't just sit here and know I've caused so much trouble and not do something. Please, Myckie, just do this for me. I don't ask for much, just do this for me." Sherlock had me speechless for a second. _Myckie?_ Sherlock hadn't called me Myckie since the age of thirteen, hadn't called me it sincerely since he was _seven._ He was serious. He wasn't the man who'd left on this mission two years ago; he was nothing like that man. For starters, he was calling me names that he'd only used in childhood, actually showing his emotions for possibly the first time in his whole adult life while not high, letting ticks and twitches fall through his carefully constructed wall. Even now as I watched him, he was wincing, his fingers dancing agitatedly, just like we'd taught him. That rigid wall was crumbling, after only being back two days. I'd known he was going to be changed from his time away, but this was not what I was expecting from him.

I'd thought I would bring home a moodier brother, possibly one that didn't rush head first into danger as readily as he once did, but still a mostly whole Sherlock Holmes. But from what I was seeing, he wasn't even that. He was actually having problems adjusting to his beloved flat, actually _wanting to please people,_ he really had changed...

"Mycroft? Will you do that for me? I'm not exactly begging, but can you do that?" Sherlock jumped me from my thoughts.

"Of course, I'll get right on it first thing in the morning, after I have a talk with John Watson." I answered, mentally noting to send a few plain clothed agents to watch over Sherlock. This was one of the bigger cases of 'danger nights' I'd ever seen, it would be best to keep an eye on him.

"What? Why are you talking to John? Oh don't you _dare_ give him one of your 'talks' Mycroft!" Sherlock came back to himself in a second, sitting upright and mask back on, voice even.

"And why not? I'm sure you've figured out that I saw those texts he sent to you, I think he needs to be talked to." I answered innocently enough.

"Do _not_ talk to John Mycroft! You will not be bullying him into forgiving me or anything, it's his choice on whether or not he wants to forgive me, I don't want you meddling in that!" Sherlock growled, hand still twitching, but getting better.

"If you wish brother mine. I shall cancel our little chat, though if you change your mind all it takes is a text." I smiled, putting some more smug tones into my voice, hoping it sounded like normal, like I wasn't at all worried for his well being.

"Good, stay away from him and Lestrade for that matter. I don't want to find out you've been kidnapping them again. Now can you just go and sort out what I asked, and possibly legally bring me back from the dead?" Sherlock sighed.

"I shall contact you when the paperwork is finished. Now go to bed brother dear, you're looking awfully tired." I turned off the call before I could get a reply, making sure Sherlock did actually head to his bedroom before sorting out the promotion paper work and sending two agents to watch over Sherlock's house, under strict orders to force him back inside his flat if he so much as gave a _hint_ he wanted to use again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you for the kudos, it means a lot. ConCrit is still very welcome!


	13. Chapter 13

12 Sherlock's POV

I growled to myself at the realisation that Mycroft was watching me through his damn cameras again. How did I not think that he would have installed them again, watching over me when I came back, make sure I wasn't _struggling_ or something. I wasn't struggling, I was fine. I was guilty and lonely, I was sure that that was allowed, no matter how irrational feeling alone was. Most of my life had been spent alone, with the exception of John living with me for two years. Out of thirty-seven years, I'd been alone for thirty-five, no friends or anything; I should have been _used_ to it. Having only myself to talk to. But then John had moved in, and suddenly I had felt better than I ever had, because I'd had a _friend._ He'd been there, putting up with all my quirks, all my annoying little habits, the experiments, the sleepless nights, the cases, all of it. John had been the first person to never leave.

_He's left now though hasn't he? Left you all alone in this dark, cold flat. Nobody to talk to or anything._ Shh, it was fine, I was making steps to keeping him happy, and that was what mattered. _Happy doesn't mean coming back._ I knew that! I just, well I was sure it would all work out in the end. _Yes, the freak is left alone and everyone gets back on with their lives._ Well I couldn't say I wasn't expecting that right now.

My phone vibrated in my pocket, stopping my internal conversation, 'Brother mine, go to bed. I'll sort out the paperwork, now go to sleep.' Mycroft had texted; I rolled my eyes in the general direction of the camera, resolving to take them down in the morning, before going to bed.

This time I didn't bother to shower first, thinking that the nightmares had happened because of the scare in the shower. Maybe I could sleep better without the shower. It was worth a try. Plus I was so exhausted it would probably do me some good to have another go at sleep. Yes, let's just see if I could sleep...

_Concentrate, come on, concentrate. You're a Russian talking to his mob leader. Keep your hands on the gun, hold it steady, the safety is off, the silencer is on. Just wait for him to arrive, give you the package and shoot him. Keep cool, you're doing this for John, think of John, he's going to be so happy when you get back. Think of how happy he's going to be when he see's you're alive. But you need to get through this first, get through this and you can see him._

_"Ah Yelchin, good to see you." The mob leader, Chekov, smiled at me._

_"Good to see you too." I answered in Russian, accent perfect, hand shaking. No, think of John, think of John. Focus on the mission, but remember John, you're doing this for him._

_"I hope you have the information for me." Chekov glanced at the briefcase in my hands._

_"Of course, where's my payment?" I raised an eyebrow. I'd need the money, and anything else he had on him to get a train to St Petersburg to get rid of the rest of the cell. Possibly a meal in between too._

_"Right here, now give me the briefcase, and you'll get your payment." Chekov held his hands out, one with a wad of money in, the other empty, awaiting the empty briefcase. I handed it over, trying to stop my hands from shaking, hoping it didn't look too obvious, not like it had been at Baskerville. No don't think of Baskerville right now, don't experience that fear on top of this fear. Mission, think of mission. Wait for open moment then shoot him in the head._

_The briefcase was opened; Chekov's face turning angry when he noticed it was empty._

_"What is this? Are you trying to trick me?" He growled, as quickly as I could, I whipped the gun out, shooting fast. The gun shot was practically silent but the **howl** Chekov let out rang through the entire warehouse as I hit him in the arm. I panicked as blood started pouring from his arm, that wasn't supposed to happen! I meant for his head! Shit, shit, shit! Quick, a shot to the head, stop him screaming, stop the blood, stop it all! _

_Again, the gun shot was quiet in my shaking hands, hitting the man right between the eyes before he fell forwards and landed at my feet, the back of his head blown out, blood and brain and skull everywhere. Just like Moriarty on the roo- no, not thinking of that right now. Had to get rid of the body, Mycroft told me to hide my tracks, to set the place on fire, grab the used bullets and leave._

_I rolled the body over onto its front, digging my fingers into its arm, knowing that the bullet was in there. It hadn't gone through; it was still stuck in muscle and vein. It squelched as I stuck my fingers in, coating my fingers in more blood until I found the bullet, pocketing it before finding the other embedded in the wall. Then, I covered the place in petrol and set it alight, running towards Chekov's car and diving in, driving off in it, getting as far away as possible, ignoring the blood drying on my face and clothes, coating my hands in its sickly substance._

I woke with a scream, feeling sticky... No! No I couldn't still be in Russia, covered in blood, NO! I scrambled madly out of bed, racing towards the mirror, taking in my appearance. No blood, not even a fleck of it. Good, good, just sweat. Sweat I could deal with, not blood, not victim’s blood, spurting from wounds I'd created, created in the battle that killed them. Just sweat, from sleep. I was fine, I was in Baker Street... and my back was one _fire._

I twisted round, seeing that it was again a bloody mess; I must have torn the stitches out of place again. Shit this was _never_ going to heal if this carried on. I needed someone to bandage the whip marks up again, possibly give me a strong pain killer. For a split second I thought of John but decided against it. _He'd rather see you in pain than ever help you again. Actually, what makes you think he'd even want to see you again? That conversation from yesterday already out of your mind?_ No, I just, fuck I thought this was going to be so much simpler than it was!

I thought I'd come back to welcoming arms and happy faces, everyone so glad to see me again. John would still be living here, or be in the process of moving back in again, he'd have looked after my wounds, moaned at me to eat and sleep more and try to keep me from cases for a week or two, so I had time to heal. Naturally I wouldn't have listened to him, possibly just to hear him give me another doctoring lecture. And I would have loved every second of it, just hearing his voice again, pulling rank on me like he was so fond of doing, calling me an idiot.

But instead I was alone in the flat, not sleeping, not feeling at all hungry, wanting nothing more than to see John again, but knowing that he despised me right now. And it was my entire fault. I shouldn't have jumped, or should have told him that I was alive. But if I had, he'd have been in danger, I was honestly only trying to protect him, really, that was all I was doing, I hadn't meant to hurt him like I had! Hadn't meant to hurt _anyone_ like I had. It hadn't factored into my plan, none of this had. I'd just... I'd just tried to protect them all.

_And now you're alone, having nightmares with a bleeding back with nobody to help out. You should have died out there, in that cell in Serbia._ Maybe I should have, maybe I should have died in that cell, and so I didn't have experience this crushing feeling of loneliness and isolation. Nobody around to talk to, or help out, anything.

 I could only hope that my promotion plan helped to make _someone_ happier, possibly happy enough to talk to me again. Currently all I had was Mrs Hudson, but even she couldn't help, not properly. All she could do was keep a roof over my head, while I pretended that I was perfectly fine, keep the mask up, and keep up appearances. Same old Sherlock, cold, unfeeling _sociopath freak_ Sherlock. I was trying to be nicer, but it wasn't doing anything, it was just, it wasn't doing anything! What could I do? God what _wouldn't_ I do to have John back!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kudos again! Another reminder that my twitter is @corruptedpov and tumblr is effulgentcorruptedpov if you want to message/follow me on either of those. :)


	14. Chapter 14

13 Sherlock's POV                                                               

I gave up on the idea of sleep and decided to have a shower instead, try and wash off all this blood from my back again. The sensation of feeling it run down my spine made me want to rip my skin off to make it stop. I could handle water running down just fine, but when it was thick, warm blood, _my_ blood, it was making me desperate for a shower. Or a bath. Or _anything_ to at least clean it up a bit.

The shower started running again, hitting the tiles, the water feeling warm to my hand. It should have been a comforting feeling but instead it had my heart rate racketing up to a near dangerous level, panic slipping its way through my veins until I could feel myself trembling again. Oh for God's sake it was a shower! Fine, no shower for me, bath instead. No overhead onslaught of water, should be fine... Right? _Probably not._ Well I was going to _make_ it fine. Water had always been something I'd enjoyed as a child, baths had been rather relaxing, hopefully it would prove to be the same now. If I was lucky I would get that serenity feeling back, calm myself down a bit so I could _breathe_ again, possibly not only be focusing on pain all the time. _Yeah, good luck with that._ Oh shut the hell up!

I sat on the edge of the bath as it filled; watching the water slowly fill up, trying to will my heart rate down, to relax. It was some water, I was alone, nobody was going to push me under and hold me there until I nearly passed out. This was not Korea, or Serbia, I was alone. _A. L. O. N. E._ Nobody here but me, I had the control here. _Keep on thinking that._ I would, and I'd have a nice time, just like always. The warmth would do me some good; I'd been freezing cold all day due to a lack of weight. This would be good. I promised myself as I slid into the water, trying to not jostle myself too much, hesitant to lay back, considering I couldn't even lean against a chair without pain currently.

Slowly, I managed to wash myself, feeling my lungs constrict tighter and tighter as I went on, barely even breathing due to the agony I felt when washing off the blood off my back. It was almost as painful as when I'd received the whipping that caused them in the first place, was that even possible? Really, I'd never been in this much pain before, and I'd been through a _lot_ of beatings/tortures/various injuries from general life and drug overdoses, and yet this topped it all off. Between the searing heat in my back and my inability to breathe, I could almost believe that I was back in Serbia again, that I'd escaped into my Mind Palace and created all of this inside my head, the pain leaking through from reality. The only thing keeping me from really thinking that was that I would have _never_ imagined John's reaction, or that I'd be alone. Every time I'd escaped in there I'd never imagined myself to be alone. John was always there, encouraging me to carry on, that it would all be over soon, that he'd sort me out soon, being more affectionate than I'd ever actually experienced from him. Not once had he attacked me like he had done, never shouted like he had, and I'd never asked Mycroft for help.

So this was reality, I was alone, it was just _water_ and now I needed to wash my hair... put my head near the water. Okay, okay deep breathes, its normal water, I wasn't being water-boarded, I had the control. I was in 221B, my safe place, _not exactly safe, people had gotten in before. Attacked Mrs Hudson too. There was a sniper here just two years ago, ready to kill her._ Well he was dead now; they all were, so I could stop worrying about that right now. _Yes and who killed them? You did, murderer. You're no better than them._ Oh for God's sake, shut up!

I ducked down to the water, wetting my hair and speed washing it, trying to breathe, remember how that happened, despite how boring it was. Breathe, just breathe, and think of Redbeard. Redbeard loved baths, used to roll in mud deliberately just so I had an excuse to wash him all over again, soaking myself in the process. Ah, better, keep on thinking of Redbeard. He loved the violin, maybe I could play it today, I hadn't in the past two years, it was probably horribly out of tune and in need of some love at the least...

There, done, wasn't so hard now was it? Pain was subsiding and I didn't die or pass out, I'd say that that was a success. Now to get dressed and to go and spend some quality time with my violin. _What if you wake up Mrs Hudson?_ I shouldn't do, I hadn't done before. _Yes you did, she moaned all the time about you keeping her up all night with the screeching from that thing. John moaned about the same thing._ Oh... Well that wouldn't count if I just tuned it right? _That involves playing it moron, checking you've tuned it right. No playing for you tonight._ Fuck. Well I'd wait until morning then. Possibly afternoon. Daytime at the least. Still, I was going dust it off, make sure it was still intact, didn't need any new strings or anything. In the front room, in my chair.

_Whatever you want. Just stare at John's **empty** chair. Contemplate why he isn't here anymore. _I groaned to myself, was there _anything_ I could do in this flat anymore that didn't involve thinking about John and how much I screwed up?! _Short answer: no._  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kudos! :)


	15. Chapter 15

14 Mycroft's POV            

After the paperwork was sorted and John, Lestrade and Mrs Hudson had been given Sherlock's wishes, I went back to watching him on the monitors. My brother was not at all well, and I was not above admitting to myself that it worried me a little. His behaviour was strange and would be completely unrecognisable to anybody who hadn't known him his entire life. Though even some things confused even me, something I was _not_ pleased about. I didn't like being confused about Sherlock; it meant he could do _anything,_ from sulking by himself to tearing down his entire life each by inch. I'd seen him do both, and currently it looked like he was between doing both.

For days, I watched my little brother try to sleep, only to wake up screaming barely an hour later, have what sounded like near panic attacks in the bathroom (there were no cameras in there, I did allow him _some_ privacy) refuse to touch his violin, let alone play it, wandering aimlessly around his flat at all hours unless he had the company of Mrs Hudson, who he then tried to play perfect tenant for. When the land lady turned up he always calmed, trying to have conversations with her to his best ability, even picking at the food she brought up for him. If she wasn't there though, he didn't eat, didn't even bother making anything either, twitched and yanked at his hair, fingers always twiddling around in the stimming motions that were taught to him as a child, to use instead of the wild rocking and humming he'd originally been fond of. Sherlock hadn't used them that often before he left on his mission, only occasionally twitching his fingers behind his back when nervous. But now it seemed like it was a near permanent thing, constant hand movements as he sat alone, _talking to himself._

That was probably the most worrying symptom of them all, watching him talk to himself, generally telling an unknown entity to shut up while pulling at his ear like that would stop the sounds he was hearing from making an appearance. In all Sherlock's years, he'd never talked to himself, always talking to his skull if he needed someone to bounce ideas off of. Even when high, Sherlock hadn't talked to himself. But now, when he most definitely was not high as he hadn't left the drug-free flat to get the 7% solution he was so fond of, he was talking on and off to himself, generally wincing at the sounds he was hearing.

"Be prepared to descend on the target flat the second I give the order, if target leaves the flat follow him incognito to wherever he goes." I ordered the agents outside the flat, getting worried over whether my brother was going to crack and run out for some chemical relief.

"And what shall we do with him if the order is given or if he gets himself into trouble?" An agent asked, sitting outside Speedy's Cafe.

"Then bring him to my office. By any means necessary, sedate him if you have to." Sherlock would definitely not go willingly, he never had. He'd proven to be a very slippery person to force anywhere, let alone near me in times of crisis. Though our last conversation had possibly been an indication that he would be more willing for help this time. I wasn't going to force it currently though, if I ripped him from his flat and shoved him into therapy he would never forgive me, or ever accept the help given to him. If anything, he'd reject everything he possibly could and become the most hellish monster, now with even more training on how to get out of a sticky situation. So for now, I had to leave him be, wait for him to either come to me, or wait for him to slip up so I had a better argument to convince him of getting help.

"Yes Sir, we shall increase the watch on Baker Street. Is there anything else we can do?" Another agent asked, this one parked in a car across from 221B.

"No, that shall be all for now." I cut off the call, continuing to watch my brother stare at John's arm chair, fingers moving in front of his face, leg also fidgeting, fighting what looked like a panic attack.

"Of course I know that." He muttered to himself, wincing a few seconds later, "I don't care, he'll be happy, that's what matters." He continued.

"I know he isn't coming back, quit telling me. Be quiet!" Sherlock moaned this time, grimacing. He leant back in his chair in defeat, before springing forward again with a cut off cry.

"Everything alright dear?" Mrs Hudson called.

"Fine Mrs Hudson! Walked into a chair is all!" Sherlock called back, sitting still for a few more minutes, chewing on his lip before springing upwards. He made his way to John's old armchair, grabbing it and starting to drag the thing down the hall with great effort, heaving in breath after a few pulls. It took him over half an hour to move the chair into his bedroom, situating it on the far side of the room, before he collapsed into it with exhaustion, curling up in its seat... This could not have been a good sign...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments/kudos! :D


	16. Chapter 16

15 Sherlock's POV

I couldn't stand looking at John's chair anymore, couldn't stand to see it so _empty,_ like he was dead. _Like you thought you were. He would have sat in this chair for so long, staring at your empty one, thinking you were never coming back, this is how he felt. It's payback._ No, I didn't want to think about this, not right now, not ever.

John was never coming back, but I could handle his chair being here, it was just a chair. _Not it isn't, it's **his** chair, the one he sat in every single day, reading the paper, typing up blog posts, watching TV, talking to you, **mourning.**_ I got that damn it! I got that, he sat in this chair all the time, faced mine, saw its emptiness and everything. Staring at that red armchair made my entire chest ache, like I'd had a hand punch straight through my entire being. This was torture, staring at the empty chair, knowing it wouldn't be filled ever again. Nobody could fill that chair apart from John Watson, it was his chair, and his chair alone. It wouldn't ever be filled again, not ever. _This is how John felt, every day until he moved out. He saw your chair and thought of how he'd never have another conversation with you ever again, because you were **dead** to him. You're still dead to him now. _

No! I couldn't take this anymore! I couldn't continue to stare at it anymore, be reminded of all the wrong I did! Without even thinking, I jumped up from my own chair, grabbing onto the arm of John’s and dragging it down the hall. Or at least attempting to anyway. My whole body felt weak, far too weak. Not just post case weak either, more exhausted and _given up._ There was no energy in my body, no fuel for the transport, no charge in its batteries. I was strung out, more exhausted than I'd ever felt in my entire life. But I couldn't give up, I had to move this chair, just get it out of my sight. It couldn't be in the front room anymore, I had to move it, no matter how much pain I was in, or how exhausted I was.

It took so long to get me to move it into my room, shoving it into the far corner before I collapsed into it, feeling the need to just rest for a second. Somewhere I couldn't see it, or wasn't reminded of its owner’s absence. It felt like the only place that could be was in the chair itself, where I could curl up and stare at my own empty room, which had always been empty. No trace of John in here, just his chair, which I was curled up in. _Yeah great plan. Stop reminding yourself of John by sitting in his chair. How stupid are you?_ Not stupid, so not stupid, just... _desperate, pathetic, delusional?_ Oh shut up, I was tired, and my eyes were dropping, I was going to rest my eyes. Not sleep, just rest my eyes, possibly go through the mind palace, and play with Redbeard for a bit in the halls. He was always a good way to cheer up, yeah, I'd go play with Redbeard. My Redbeard, who would have stayed, he would have stayed even after St Bart's, after the fake death. _Of course he would. Not._

My eyes slipped closed, and before I knew it, I was fast asleep, curled up in John's chair.

_"It's okay Sherlock, I'm here. I'm here; it's going to be okay." John promised as I heaved in breath, fighting against the hands holding me above the water._

_The hands pushed down again, forcing my head under the murky water, making my eyes sting and lungs burn for precious oxygen. I struggled as much as I could, feeling myself weakening, **I was going to die.**_

_"No, no you're not going to die, they won't kill you. They need information, just hold on. You may pass out, but you won't die. Hold on for me. You can do it for me, can't you Sherlock? You can do anything for me." John whispered as everything went black and I felt my life slipping away from my body._

I woke up with another scream, falling out the chair, sending fire up my spine and entire body, barely able to breathe. Nightmares, so many damn nightmares. Every damn time I closed my eyes my time away flashed in front of my face with no let up, feeling so _real_ I was nearly sure that I was back there again, in the heat of that moment, stuck with no escape. No back up, no waking up to Baker Street, John's voice almost being _mocking_ with how calm he was, knowing that he wasn't actually there to help. He was a figment of my imagination, encouraging me to carry on for him. And for what exactly? For me to come home and for him to reject me, tell me that I'm a sociopathic machine, that I was a terrible human being, to delete his number as he was never talking to me again.

I'd put myself through hell for him, taken so many precautions, stayed far away from drugs, no matter how badly I felt like I needed it. Hell, I didn't even _smoke_ while away, knowing it would disappoint him and I hadn't wanted to disappoint him further. Well now I physically couldn't disappoint him further if I tried, he wasn't going to find out what I did anymore either. So fuck this, fuck all the nightmares, the physical and emotional pain, the stupid voices in my head, the uncertainty in _every_ situation. I was going to get as high as a kite and feel good about myself for a while, I _damn well_ deserved it, I deserved to feel like I was floating. Maybe that way I may have actually gotten some rest, or at least find myself somewhere I'd be welcome.

I flew out of the room, grabbing my coat and scarf, barrelling down the stairs and out onto the street, knowing exactly where to go to find some good 7%. I turned down the street, noticing a nondescript car pull out of its parking space at the same time, driving slowly, far too slowly to be a normal person going about their business... There were two people behind me too, walking at a similar pace... _Mycroft, that bastard._ He was going to spoil everything all over again, stop me falling off the bandwagon, and make me suffer, just like always. Well I was going to give his men the slip; I was better at that now, had reflexes and skills he couldn’t account for. I knew this city like the back of my hand, all the back alleys and all the ways to lose the cameras.

I bided my time, pretending to be oblivious to the trailing car and service agents tailing me until I got to a dark alley a few streets away from Baker Street, suddenly darting into it and breaking into a run, jumping over the wall and effectively losing the car. A burst of adrenalin flew into my veins, giving me a small boost despite the exhaustion I felt, running for what felt like hours over London, down all the seedy back alleys and over walls and roof tops. Though the agents never lost pace. _You're going to get caught and get into so much trouble. Mycroft's going to have you locked up in rehab again if you're not careful._ Only if he caught me, and I had the advantage here, I knew the city, these agents didn't. They probably didn't even have clearance to use force to restrain me either, let alone bundle me into a car and drag me off to Mycroft's office for a good shouting at.

I got cocky, speeding up and jumping several more buildings, running down a fire escape and hopping a fence, jarring my ankle in the process but continuing to run, refusing to give up. My muscles burned in agony as I continued, but I just had to outrun the guards and I'd be fine. Outrun them and escape to the dealer whose name I'd forgotten and shoot up cocaine and feel blissful. The running and agony would be worth the cocaine, everything was worth giving up for the cocaine right now. I had nothing, the cocaine would sort everything out again, _just get me to the damn cocaine and off these guys backs._

But as I turned to run onto a main street, I noticed more of Mycroft's men heading my way, two from the left, two from the right, two from behind me, a car right in front, blocking the alley. What?! How many were there!? _Too late. You lose._ How did they find me?! I stayed away from cameras! How could they find me so quickly?!

"Oh for God's sake, can't a guy go for a walk without being chased down by morons?!" Play it innocent, see if that worked. Innocence could work if they were stupid enough!

"Yeah, like _that_ one is going to work on us, now give up and get in or we'll use force." The biggest of the six growled, the entire mob crowding round, backing me into the wall. _It's Serbia all over again! You're going to get captured and shipped off to a cell and be tortured! It's going to be whipping and copper pipes all over again! You'll never make it out alive!_ No! No, no, no! It couldn't, no! No more torture, nothing like Serbia again, oh God please no more Serbian torture ever again!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thanks for the kudos, it's very much appreciated!  
> If you want you can follow me on twitter: @corruptedpov  
> Or follow me on tumblr: effulgentcorruptedpov


	17. Chapter 17

16 Mycroft's POV                                                                                                      

I sighed as I watched my little brother be carried into my office, knocked out, at least not high on cocaine, but still not exactly what I'd wanted for him. At least we'd been prepared for it, and were dealing with it accordingly, now hopefully we could avoid a big situation where our parents would get involved, they'd be heartbroken to be brought home from their line dancing holiday... Again.

"Where shall we put him Sir?" The head agent of the team asked, holding onto my brothers shoulders.

"Put him on one of the chairs." I answered, taking a second to think that this was not the grand entrance Sherlock would have liked. He would have preferred his usual dramatic flair, being escorted in between the six guards, looking like a super villain in those sci-fi movies he complained to me about after John made him watch one. Instead he was sedated, slumped in a chair after being carried in by guards, looking weak and helpless, such fear and innocence on his face, just like that small child he'd once been.

"You can leave now; I'll handle him from here." I told my agents, watching them leave, though looking unsure of leaving me alone. I would be fine, Sherlock wouldn't throw punches at me, not while sober anyway. He was too weak to anyway, skin and bone really, dark circles under his eyes, Mummy and Daddy would be so upset if they knew of this. I would do anything in my power to keep them from knowing, until Sherlock was in better shape, looking like he was actually alive instead of this skeletal echo of their son.

Sherlock was going to be out of it for a while, so I carried on looking at rehab facilities that specialised in patients with PTSD like symptoms, or at least had experienced trauma. Periodically, I looked up at my little brother, making sure he was breathing and wasn't having a medical problem. He seemed fine... Well, until he woke up, groggily shaking his head and sitting up, tensing like a bow string on his untouched violin when he came to his senses.

"Ah, brother mine, how good of you to join us." I put on the usual front, it was better to not let Sherlock see the slightly softer, caring side to me in situations like this. He'd use it for own gain. Sometimes I wished I hadn't taught him to do that.

"Mycroft." Sherlock zeroed in on me, the tense set of his shoulders relaxing so minutely it was almost unnoticeable. At least he relaxed a little, realising he wasn't in a Serbian jail cell as I was sure he was half suspecting, judging by his last cries before he'd been sent to sleep.

"Have fun with your little run around London? I hear it was quite the chase, we should start using you as a training exercise at MI5, the agents there would _love_ such a good practice." I smirked, watching him wince. Though if it was my comments or another source I could not deduce.

"Stop with the belittling Mycroft, which rehab facility are you sending me to this time and how disappointed are Mummy and Daddy dearest? On the plane yet?" Sherlock hissed, the walls slamming up with surprising speed, though the hurt and fear in his eyes couldn't be masked. The anger was there, but the fear of disappointment was winning today.

"They haven't been told yet and will continue to remain in ignorance until I see it a fit time for them to be informed of your condition. All they currently know is that you're home, nothing else... Unless you fancy telling them yourself that you tried to get out of the flat and find yourself some cocaine." I glared at him by the end, making sure he knew that he was _serious_ trouble and on thin ice with me. One wrong move and he was going to phoning them himself, hearing himself their disappointment and regret for not being there for him, everything.

"I wasn't getting cocaine; I was going for a walk." Sherlock lied; like _that_ excuse hadn't been used a thousand times already.

"A walk that was leading to you being as high as a bloody kite in some drug den somewhere, back to square one again." I wasn't letting it slide until he admitted to it.

"Like you care." Sherlock looked seconds away from another tantrum, crossed arms and slumped back into his chair, holding in any sign of being in pain, despite the fact that I knew he was.

"Despite your thoughts, I do actually care about you Sherlock. You're my little brother and I do not want you back on that damn cocaine, or any other drug again. No matter how bored you are, or whatever is going on with you." I watched him roll his eyes.

"You only care about having your precious reputation being kept intact, can't have a junky little brother can you _brother dear,_ " Sherlock sneered the words, "It's bad enough that I'm a _silly little consulting detective who jumped off a roof and played dead,_ can't be a junky as well, God forbid he have issues."

"I'm not saying that you can't have issues Sherlock, just that you need to stay away from the drugs because they will do you no good. Which is why I’m putting a stop to this right now and sending you to rehab, so you can have the help you need and get back to your life and stop this nonsense." I pushed a file into his lap, containing three different appropriate rehab facility profiles, "Now pick one and we'll get you admitted tonight."

"I'm not going to rehab Mycroft! I am _fine!_ I just need the usual distraction of cases, which I don't have right now, because _I'm not legally alive.”_ Sherlock’s glare was so hard a lesser man would have been turned to stone, “So make me legally alive and find a detective who will work with me, Dimmock or _someone,_ and I'll get back to work like nothing happened!" Sherlock stood up, throwing the paper on the floor, trying the intimidation technique to mask the fear of another rehab facility. He'd already been thrown out two, been pulled from another and sworn to never go back to a fourth. Rehab did actually scare him, always had, and always would.

"What makes you think that I'll just let you go back to cases after today’s events, when you haven't eaten or slept properly in the past two years? You're swaying on your feet, if you think I'm letting you out in the world without some sort of guarantee of you behaving yourself, which includes looking after yourself, you are sorely mistaken." I remained seated, keeping myself calm, giving him a mocking look for thinking that I would actually let him go back to his work when he looked positively frail.

"Didn't stop you sending me off a two year mission where you knew I was going to left in this state did it? And what's my health got to do with it? No-one has ever cared about that before so why start now?! Just get me in the land of the living again and find me a good serial killer case with a slightly intelligent DI who'll work with me, all your worries about a tarnished reputation will disappear." Sherlock insisted, something caught me off with that.

"What makes you think Detective Inspector Lestrade won't work with you anymore?" He'd repeated twice now to find him a DI who'd work with him.

"Well why would he after I made him think I was dead for two years? He'd probably sooner punch me in the face than work with me again, just like the rest of Scotland Yard. And he's just got promoted if you actually followed my instructions for once in your life, so he's probably not going to risk my involvement again anyway, not after all the Moriarty business." Sherlock's walls dropped for a split second, where he looked vulnerable and scared of what he was saying. He did genuinely want his detective inspector back too, gather up the traces of his life back and put it all back together, but was too scared of being rejected to actually see if he was hated or not by anybody but John. Then again, the doctor may have put him off ever asking for forgiveness from anyone ever again. I would still have to make a meeting with him soon, make sure he knew what he'd done...

"He didn't take his promotion Sherlock, he is still a DI working homicide, and from what I can tell, he'd still happily work with you so that is no issue." That surprised Sherlock, I revelled in it for a second before I continued, "But the question remains, can you cope without another rehab stint? I'm leaning towards the no, but I'll give you a chance to convince me, so state your case." I leant back in my chair, waiting for that all to process and for Sherlock to state his case against another cycle of rehabilitation. It was true that The Work did help Sherlock avoid his drug addiction, but it didn't mean I wasn't worried for him.

"I can cope without another rehab stint because I'll have _cases and work_ to keep me occupied. My brain will not be dealing with all the thoughts of the past two years, I'll be focusing on solving crimes, as I did do for seven damn years without a single problem, no relapses or anything. It's been a proven method to keep me occupied and 'out of trouble' so give me the damn cases and the drug attempt won't happen again." Sherlock never wavered in his speech.

"And you'll stay away from drugs? And eat and sleep?" I raised an eyebrow.

"Yes if that's what is so important, yes. Now make me alive again and get me case." Sherlock turned and walked at the door, though he paused before he left, "Did John take his promotion, or did he turn it down, like Lestrade?" He asked softly, not turning round, not letting his face betray his worry.

"He turned it down too. They're both in the same jobs they were in before you interfered." I answered, he nodded and walked out. I severely hoped that I hadn’t made a mistake with letting Sherlock go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kudos again! :D


	18. Chapter 18

17 Sherlock's POV                                                               

I walked out of Mycroft's office with my head held high, pretending that I was better than everybody else around here, that the guards I was passing hadn't carried me in here hours ago while I was unconscious. My muscles still ached from the run, but I wasn't going to show them that either, I was Sherlock Holmes, usually people feared me. I wished they feared me again, instead of the slightly pitying looks I was receiving. Even _Anthea_ was looking up from her phone for once in her life to give me a look of pure sympathy.

_Poor Sherlock, didn't come back whole from his mission. Poor Sherlock, lost his best friend due to his actions. Poor Sherlock, he's feeling so bad he tried to go back to the drugs and lose everything all over again._ I could see it in all of their faces, like they could read me like I read them. Well they couldn't, they didn't know what I was going through, not really. They didn't know anything, and they were _not_ supposed to pity me either. Nobody pitied me, nobody felt sympathy, it was not what I was here for. _You're here to solve crimes when you're needed. Nothing else._

_‘Stop your damn staff from staring at me like I'm in need of some help - SH'_ I texted my brother, storming out of the building, getting into the car waiting, knowing that there'd be a car waiting. There was _always_ a car. I didn't want to walk all the way home, not in my state, not when I was on fire all over, my brain unable to stop deducing for two seconds to give me a break. _You'll have a breakdown on the street if you're not careful, which you're not._

"Where to Sir?" The driver asked, dressed in the usual garb of Mycroft's drivers. Sharp black suit, not tailored, but fitting well, ironed and pressed to perfection, not a _speck_ of dirt on it.  

"Home. Baker Street." I sighed, spreading out, putting my feet up on the seat, not caring if I got dirt on it. Just yesterday I would have worried about annoying Mycroft and making him put off resurrecting me but he'd pissed me off so much I didn't care. He'd sent his goons out to grab me off the damn street again, had them _watching_ my flat with me inside it, tracking my movements, making sure I stayed on that damn bandwagon everyone seemed so intent on keeping me on. So what if I went back to the 7% solution? Really, who _cared?_ It's what I wanted, kept me high enough that it didn't feel like my head was going to explode and all those annoying feelings pushed away to the side. Generally kept me high enough so all I could do was lay still and ride the blissful waves of being high, hence keeping me from trouble. Isn't that what everyone wanted, keeping me out of trouble and easily found? Just give me enough cocaine to last in the flat and I wouldn't even leave it, just lay in bed and waste away in time with the waves of the high, and eventually die like I was supposed to on top of St Bart's. _Yes just put everyone through your death all over again. At least the grave is already there, and barely anybody cares anymore. Just Mummy and Daddy. They won't take losing their son well, not for good this time. At least you wouldn't be bored anymore, or here to feel the hatred._

At least Mycroft may actually get something going so I could go back out on cases again, get something back to normal again. I'd been craving a good old fashioned case for so long, give me something to focus on for a while, distract my mind from the constant whirling thoughts of John and guilt and what happened on my mission. I had had enough of thinking of it, I needed a murder, a murder not caused by me, to solve. To see the patterns and piece together the clues, solve and catch a murderer. Hell even have an argument when _Donovan,_ just _something_ to stop my mind going over the same thoughts over and over again. _Yeah good luck with that. That's even if Lestrade lets you near him again. He hasn't come over recently, or texted, or called, or emailed. He's probably still angry._ But Mycroft said he wasn’t. _Mycroft lies._ Fuck.

"Baker Street Sir." The driver made me jump, what were my reflexes doing?! I should have known we were at Baker Street, shouldn't have jumped at his voice, _you're slipping._ No I was not.

I got out of the car, climbing up the seventeen steps, getting stopped on step eight by Mrs Hudson.

"Oh you're back; you've been gone for hours! A parcel came while you were out, from Mycroft by the looks of it, stay there a second and I'll get it." Mrs Hudson told me, bustling into her flat and coming out with a crate. I took it off her, looking over what was inside... Protein shakes and sleeping pills.

_Get your strength up brother mine._ A note inside read, he actually expected me to drink these and take _medication_ for _sleeping?_ Me?! I groaned to myself, hoping he wouldn't be interfering with my health, despite our conversation.

"Everything alright Sherlock?" Mrs Hudson asked at my groan, hand resting on my arm gently.

"Fine, Mycroft is... We had a chat; apparently I need to build up my strength again." I waved a bottle in explanation.

"I'd agree with him there, you still look like death warmed up! Though those can't taste very nice, tell you what, I'll make us some cake, not the healthiest thing in the world but it'll taste a damn sight better than that." Mrs Hudson smiled, squeezing my arm.

"Don't say that too loudly, Mycroft will come round and eat it all himself." I joked; feeling like a joke would go down better with Mrs Hudson than it did with John.

"Then we'll have to eat it quickly then won't we? Keep it our little secret." Mrs Hudson giggled; I did too, leaning into her a little, seeking a small comfort in the land lady.

"You're a saint Mrs Hudson." I told her as she made her way back to her flat.

"I wouldn't go that far, but if you say so dear." She rolled her eyes, going inside her flat so I made my way inside my own, immediately dumping the sleeping pills in the bin, knowing I wouldn't need them. I could work around some nightmares, they'd soon disappear, I was sure. Just needed a case, give me a good puzzle and everything sorted itself, always had, always will.

The protein shakes though, I gave in and actually drank one, knowing I needed the energy. Going back out on cases, _if Lestrade or any other detective lets you,_ would require energy, this would come from the shakes, despite the fact that having them in my stomach would slow me down. I gave into it though, knowing it was needed, just for now. Until I was back on my feet again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for the kudos/comments, they really do mean the world to me!


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments/kudos you've given me, it means a hell of a lot!  
> I'm not 100% happy with this chapter, but it needs to be posted, and I can't think of anything better to write for it currently (cheers uni assignments melting my brain) so I apologise now for the bad chapter. Next one should be better though.

18 Lestrade's POV

"So he just turned up in the car park and announced himself alive? Jesus, does he have _any_ idea of what we went through?" John growled, taking another long drink of his fourth beer.

"He's Sherlock, he doesn't exactly think like a normal human being. He probably thought we'd all be ridiculously happy to see him and we'd all carry on like normal." I commented, I'd been thinking about this for days. _Sherlock was alive._ Our Sherlock, that maddening genius was actually alive, had faked his death for God knows what reason, and was now back in our lives.

"Oh yes because he's always done that, screwed us all around and then expected us to pick up the pieces. Arrogant bastard, thinks he can get away with everything doesn't he?" John continued to grumble under his breath, finishing the pint and slamming the glass on the table.

"I think you need to slow down there mate. I understand you're angry, I was angry at him too. But, he's alive, that's a good thing. We have him back." I smiled, hoping it did some reassuring for the doctor. He'd been in a state for years, and it looked like Sherlock's reappearance was not doing him any favours like I thought it might have.

"I'm not going back to him though. No way. That bastard, he made me... I thought he was _dead_ Lestrade, thought he'd committed suicide. For two years, I was sure that I'd caused his jump, made him feel so bad about himself by constantly telling him off and taking him down a few pegs that he'd wanted to jump. The last words I said to him before he jumped were 'you machine,' before telling him that friends protected friends, storming out to go to Mrs Hudson because we thought she'd been shot. But he didn't die, he's been playing hide and seek for two years and didn't deem it necessary to tell us! I'm pretty sure he's been experimenting on us, watching the grieving process or some shit. And I just can't, I can't go back to him. Not now, not ever. He was such a dickhead to live with, all the experiments, torturing his violin at all hours, the lying, everything. I cannot go back to that, and I really can't stand the sight of him ever again. Go back if you wish, you need him for cases, but I'm completely out." John ranted, I was sure I'd never seen him this angry before, not even when Sherlock got arrested the night before he jumped. Not even at the drugs bust when they first met, hell he was calmer at _Baskerville_ than this.

"Okay, I'm not going to judge you on that. He is a colossal dick, but you are right, we do need him on cases if he's still into that type of thing." I sighed; my team were _not_ going to be happy about that. Or any of the higher ranking officers. Mycroft could probably swing it though, he did with everything else.

"Oh he will be, where else will he be able to show off constantly and have a mass load of people to insult?" John rolled his eyes, getting up to get another round in. I didn't bother to tell him to slow down, knowing he wouldn't listen. It was probably best to just let him get it all out of his system and then make sure he got home okay, just like we used to, before Sherlock's death. Though that didn't really matter anymore, the kid was alive. Somehow.

My phone decided to chime then, so I glanced at it, seeing it was from a blocked number. The only time I got any type of contact with blocked numbers was when... fuck, Mycroft.

"John, got a phone call, gunna take it!" I called over to the doctor at the bar; he nodded, still pent up with anger and rage.

"Phoning to tell me that I must reinstate Sherlock's consultant status again? Cause I was already planning on doing that." I answered before the man could even speak. It was always better to get to the point with the cryptic man; the less time spent talking to him, the better in my opinion.

"I see my brother's deductive skills have rubbed off on you Detective Inspector, Sherlock will be pleased." Mycroft Holmes' condescending tone filtered through the speaker.

"I'm sure he won't. Anyway, is that it? Or do you have anything else to threaten me with if I touch a hair on your precious little brother's head again, because I don't want to hear it Mycroft, he did what he did, I'm prepared to work with him again, possibly forgive him too, and so you don't need to worry about him." I sighed, I used to sort-of get along with Mycroft, but after the whole death thing and finding out that he had fed that information to Moriarty to ruin Sherlock; I lost all respect or any trust in the man. For two years I'd thought he'd lead his little brother to his death, now I realised he helped him fake his death and lied to everyone for two years... Well at least he was consistently lying, so I knew to just not trust him.

"I'm glad to hear that, but I am phoning to warn you, Sherlock is not in the best state of health after his two years away, so you need to watch him carefully. Do not overcrowd him; just keep a steady eye on him. He's been showing signs of wanting to go back to his days of being a junkie and I want to prevent that, as I'm sure you do too. So keep an eye on him, keep him distracted with cases as usual and possibly try and be civil with him, he'll hopefully forget about his wishes for cocaine highs." Mycroft warned... Well that was not entirely what I was expecting. Drugs? Again? He mustn't have been well... Or just terribly bored in his flat, probably bored.

"I will do as soon as he's legally alive again. But I'll drop by tonight or tomorrow, make sure he's alright and tell him he's allowed back on crime scenes soon." I promised, I should have probably checked in with him sooner, but I'd been busy getting my head round the fact that _he was alive_ to actually go round. For days I'd been confused over whether or not I actually _wanted_ to see the guy again, eventually I settled on the fact that I did. Even though the guy had no social skills and generally riled up my team (some did deserve it in my honest opinion) he was a great man, indispensible.

And, if I was honest, he was sort of like a son to me. I'd helped him with his drug addiction, watched him try and be civil to my team and try to be nice, only to get knocked back on his own arse for not quite getting it right. He'd been so lonely before John, barely knew how to hold a conversation with someone, and after the appearance of John Watson in his life, he'd not exactly blossomed, but he'd certainly made an improvement on himself. He'd been so lonely, isolated from the entire human population due to his intellect, but with John he'd at least started to integrate with society. I'd gotten sucked into his own universe over the years and I did love him like a son because of it. Lord knew how lonely he was right now, probably going stir crazy in that flat... I should have probably gone over there myself actually, get a few things straight before he leapt back into the cases again.

I turned off the phone call and went back inside the pub, finding John again, still waiting to be served. "John I gotta go, something's come up," probably best to not mention it was about Sherlock, "But first I think I should get you in a cab home, alright? You've had a few; you're looking a bit tipsy." I steered the man out of the pub, getting a small mumble of agreement. So I easily got him into a cab, then one of my own, heading towards Baker Street, hoping Sherlock would actually want to talk, if not, well, he probably needed the company anyway.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm updating a day early because I've got a rather manic day tomorrow, filled with uni stuff and then the reshowing of Frankenstein with a friend, so I doubt I'll have time to update tomorrow.   
> Thanks for the comments and the kudos!

19 Sherlock's POV                                                               

Mrs Hudson baked an absolutely beautiful sponge cake with jam and cream in the middle. It was an absolutely glorious experience to eat, and to help make actually. I'd gone down to help when I remembered her complaining that mixing cake batter hurt her hip, and so had gone to help her out, something I'd never actually done before. She seemed grateful for it though, kissing my cheek in thanks as I mixed, making a small spark flicker in my chest. It wasn't pain either; it was, well, I was pretty sure it was happiness at being shown some sort of affection. I'd lasted for so long just fighting my own life, the only contact I got being fists and kicks landing on my body. To feel someone actually show me affection, even just motherly, oh it felt good. Like I wasn't drowning as much, that there was hope for things to go back to some sort of normality.

We baked the cake in my flat in the end, Mrs Hudson saying that me oven needed dusting off and that we should make use of the fact that my table was clear for once. I neglected to tell her that I wasn't going to be doing experiments anymore, not here anyway. Maybe at St Bart's, but not here. I'd heard her at my grave all those years ago, heard her complaining about the experiments, I wasn't about to risk winding her up even more when I was already on thin ice with her. If experimentation needed to be done, then it was going to be done at Bart's, where experiments were supposed to happen.

Mrs Hudson stayed too after we finished cooking, eating together, making small conversation until there was a knock on the door. Not the downstairs door either, my door, John? _Not likely. You saw those texts._ Then who?

"Hey, not interrupting anything, am I?" Lestrade came in, I tensed in my seat. What could he possibly be here for? Was there a case? No, he'd been to the pub with someone, he was off duty, had had a few too. Not a case, but then what?

"Am I officially alive again then?" I asked, thinking that that could have been the reason as to why he was here. But Mycroft was sorting that out, he'd phone me to give me that news, not send Lestrade.

"Er, you'll have to ask your brother about that, but I think so. I came to have a chat to you actually, about working with me again." Lestrade answered, _you're going to be so restricted and tightly controlled it'll be hardly worth it. They are never going to let you run riot again, not after Moriarty, not after the faked death. Mycroft can bring you back to life, but he can't restore anybodies trust in you. It's either that or Lestrade's round to tell you to piss off and he's never working with you again._ He didn't look angry though, maybe a bit worried as he eyed me, but not angry. _Could still be worried about your reaction to being told that you can't go out on cases again. Prepare for a meltdown._

"Talk away." I leant back in the chair, pretending that I wasn't thinking these thoughts, that I didn't care.

"It's going to be a long chat, might as well get comfy in the front room." He turned to the front room, noticing quickly the lack of John's chair, "Er..." He mumbled.

"John's not in the picture anymore, his chair was blocking my view to the kitchen." I breezed into the front room, falling into my own chair, "The sofa is still free though." I nodded towards the furniture, resisting the urge to wince at my previous words.

"Okay..." Lestrade looked unsure, but sat down on the sofa, "First, how have you been? You still look rough." He wrung his hands nervously.

"Fine, just fine." I lied, if you counted barely sleeping or eating, being in immense pain, unable to take a shower without having a panic attack and being thwarted in an escape to get drugs fine, I was just perfect. _Shame that's the complete opposite of fine._

"I mean it Sherlock, how have you been? I talked to Mycroft about your last trip out, and I want to make sure that you're okay before I let you get anywhere near a crime scene. Our deal still stands." Lestrade grew in confidence and gave me a hard look, the same look he gave me when I did something 'a bit not good.'

"I'm adjusting then. I'm clean, run as many tests as you like; you'll find that I've been clean for nine years." I amended; I'd been clean from drugs for a few weeks longer than our deal, which was that as long as I didn't take drugs to get high, I was allowed on cases. If I took any, I was straight off crime scenes or any cases at all, and wasn't allowed anywhere near them again until everyone was _certain_ that I was clean and nowhere near relapse.

"Good, I'm glad to hear that. So you're not still tempted to use?" Lestrade asked, his eyes searching me for clues, I stilled myself right down, refusing to even _twitch._

"No, and I definitely won't if I get back to The Work again. Like I told Mycroft, I won't use if I'm distracted through cases, so if I have that, I'll be fine." I promised, lying a bit about the temptation. It was still there, that ache, that _want_ to float away from responsibility, to feel good about life again. But I refused to give in, mostly because I knew my work was in jeopardy, that and Mycroft had better spies than last time.

"Alright, good, great... Now, I want to set some ground rules for when you come back alright? And I want you to obey them, because it's important, gives me peace of mind." Lestrade said, _here we go. Get ready to be told that you're not allowed to do anything normally, probably have even more handlers, more supervision, and more scrutiny. You're so screwed._

"What are your conditions then?" I took a breath in, preparing myself for the worst.

"First, I want you look after yourself. I mean, you like crap right now if you don't mind me saying, I'm actually worried you're going to pass out, I don't like that idea for a crime scene. So the second you don't feel well, I don't care if it's a stomach ache, or nausea or what, _you tell me._ At least until we all deem you back to rights. Also you're not to push yourself too much. You've been back four days from doing goodness knows what, and like I said, you look rough, so again, no mile long runs around London after criminals without backup. You're also to stop to eat at least once a day, and sleep for at least four hours. I've would say for at least six but I know you won't manage that and would probably kill me for making you sleep longer, but at least four hours will keep me happy. Got it?" Lestrade made me nod. That wasn't as bad as I thought...

"I'm not done yet either." _Here come the worse ones,_ "Still along the lines of looking after yourself, if you don't like a crime scene because whatever reason and you feel like you can't work that case, I won't hold it against you. You've probably been through a hell of a time, seen some things that even churns your cast iron stomach, so if you ever feel like it's too bad for you, then tell me, we'll send you right home, or wherever you need to go to cool down. Same goes for feeling like you need a break. Breaks are good, even in your world, to collect thoughts and calm down, so if there ever comes a time where you need it, I'll give it to you. Hell, if you just need a day to yourself just _tell me,_ I can give you that. Anything you need to look after yourself, you tell me and I'll give it to you. I've only just got you back; I'm not losing you again because of exhaustion." Was that it? Was that honestly _all_ the rules? To look after myself? Nothing like I had to be watched over due to cases, report back everything I did to someone, get permission to go and question people and such? He just wanted me _tell him I felt?_

"I guess... I can do that. Anything else?" I hoped that was all I was being told to do. Nothing more than just that. _Wait for it..._

"Nope, that's it for now. That's all I ask from you Sherlock, that you look after yourself when you go out on cases. John used to keep an eye on you, but seeing as he's, well he's 'not in the picture' as you put it, you need to do the looking after. I can't always be there to sort you out; I need to be a bit more responsible for yourself." Lestrade sighed, "Now I need to go. I've got to be at the station for shift at 8am, I need some sleep. Text me if you need anything, and when you're legally alive and reinstated so I know when to bring you round on cases." He got up with a sigh, heading for the door.

He paused there though, turning round to me as I stood up too, before coming over and enveloping me in a tight hug. "One more rule, _never_ do that to me ever again. Never make me believe you're dead, not even for a second you mad bastard." He whispered, clutching so tightly it constricted breathing and pressed down painfully hard on healing wounds. But I didn't care about the lack of air, or the pain, I honestly didn't care. Being held in his arms, it was like Mrs Hudson's kiss, it made my chest flare with a warm spark, a sense of comfort and almost _love_ from the affectionate move. I almost couldn't believe that I was getting this.


	21. Chapter 21

20 Sherlock's POV

_He's using you as a crime solving machine, doing the same old 'pretend to be a friend' technique before using you again. Just because you see him as a father figure doesn't mean he actually cares about you moron._ I winced at the voice as Lestrade held me to him, squeezing painfully tight, almost too tight for me to handle. He was pressing on a particularly nasty whip mark, sending more sparks of pain through my entire body.

"You got that kiddo? No more making me believe you're dead again, if you're in trouble, you tell me, got it?" Lestrade let go before he noticed the wince or the tense bunching of my muscles.

"I doubt that I'll have to fake my death again Lestrade." I wanted to assure him that the next time I was thought to be dead; I probably would actually be dead. Probably killed while on a case, as I always thought I would go. Either that or dead from an overdose... If I could actually _get_ to some drugs to shoot up that is.

"Good, I'm glad to hear it. Now text me when you're cleared as living again, I'll bring you in the second I need you. You look after yourself in the mean time; you do really look like death warmed up." Lestrade let me go and left the flat, I heard him tell Mrs Hudson half jokingly to feed me up and if she ever needed any help with me, just to call him and he'd be round as soon as he could be. _Always your handler. Sent by Mycroft to keep you on the leash and ticking over for when you're needed._

I sighed at the thought, sinking back into my chair, going over the past hour. It looked like I was going to be allowed back to working with Lestrade, and soon, as soon as the right paperwork had gone through to say that I was alive again. Then I'd be allowed back on crime scenes, back to The Work, on the condition that I looked after myself and didn't push myself too far too quickly. That had been something I wasn't expecting, I'd thought that I'd be under so much more scrutiny than I had been, possibly even told I wasn't allowed within one hundred yards of a crime scene ever again. At the very least I'd thought I would have had a handler to keep an eye on what I was doing, someone that would stop me doing any of the chasing or anything that was considered fun.

_What do you think Lestrade is doing? He's always been your handler, and he's said that he's going to keep an eye on you, closer than before. Do you really think that he's going to let you do all of the running about? Maybe when you can stand straight and don't look like death, but not now._

Yeah, maybe this wasn't going to be as normal as first thought. But at least I was being given a chance to get back to normal. _Only because you're needed to solve the more impossible crimes. You're a machine, remember? Just like John said, you're a **machine** to them. _Well it was better than just sitting here and wallowing in misery! A puzzle to solve was better than just sitting here, being incomprehensibly bored and alone, thoughts swirling through my head like no tomorrow, no let up from the thoughts and feelings and memories. All the walls coming down, letting through more and more of myself, the things I didn't want anybody else to see. The stupid, emotional twelve year old boy that I'd locked up at aged twelve, the one who stimmed and generally embarrassed the family by being there. I didn't want it, didn't want the emotions, didn't want the stimming movements, and didn’t want to be an eyesore. _Too late for all of that._

My phone dinged again, a text from Mycroft again. _'You will be legally alive by tomorrow morning at the latest.'_ It read.

**'Good - SH'** I texted back, heading to my room to try another round of sleep. I would need it to stay alert on cases, and it was a good time to try, knowing that I was going to be back to normal soon. Also I'd eaten today, maybe that would slow me down enough to actually sleep for once. I'd not slept in three days, I felt exhausted, maybe it would all be enough to have me falling asleep successfully.

I changed into pyjamas, curling up under the covers, burying myself into the pillow, willing sleep to come to me and be deep enough that I actually didn't dream for once. But again, luck was not on my side. Another nightmare from Serbia arrived, feeling so real I could feel my ribs wanting to crack all over again, aching terribly as I heaved in breath, sitting upright in my bed, tangled up in the damn sheets.

Again, I groaned to myself, falling back against the sheets. _Big_ mistake. Pain spliced its way back up my spine like electricity; I bit back a cry of pain as tears sprang to my eyes. _Clever you, forgetting that you've got near open wounds on your back again._ Well I wouldn't be making that mistake again, _sure you won't. Not like you haven't made it eight times already this week._ Shut up, I was _tired;_ I hadn't slept a full night's sleep in two and a half years. Had been through sleep deprivation torture on and off for a _month,_ and now couldn't even sleep in my own bloody bedroom due to nightmares about said torture. Was it any wonder I was slower than usual!?

_Keep up like this and you won't be allowed near crime scenes again. They'll see it as you've lost your touch and fire you, and then what are you going to do without cases? Work for Mycroft? Go back to Mummy and Daddy? Wither and die, a defeated genius, letting Moriarty win?_ None of those things! I'd function just fine at crime scenes, I'd _manage,_ I'd get back to solving crimes and wear myself out so much I need to sleep. After cases I _always_ slept like the dead, sleeping for twelve hours straight, that would happen again. I'd be back on cases, my brain would not be idle and I'd sleep like the dead and I would be _fine._

_Sure you will be. Just wait and see about that._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, all the kudos and comments mean SO much to me, thank you all for everything for the positive comments, and saying which bits you don't think work, this whole work is a learning curve and I'm over the moon with the response, and open to any concrit anybody fancies giving me!  
> Writing updates (this month is mostly NaNo panic) can be found @corruptedpov on twitter  
> And tumblr, for general blogging and sometimes writing updates is effulgentcorruptedpov  
> Feel free to follow me on either, or drop me a message at any time! :)


	22. Chapter 22

21 Sherlock's POV                                               

I stared at my bedroom door for the entire night, watching the room go from pitch black to bright and airy, not even daring close my eyes again. What was the point in it? I'd just get another flashback, so what was the point? Might as well just run myself as down as much as I could and then try again, hopefully with the satisfaction of a solved case thrumming through my veins I’d be dreamless. It would help, I was sure of it. For now, I just had to suffer for now. I'd lasted for days without sleep before, I could do it now.

With that thought, I dragged myself to the shower, struggling through another memory of water drowning me in various ways, to the point where I nearly died, only to be brought back again, heaving for breath and wishing I was actually dead.

"Just a shower, just 221b, nothing more. Not Serbia, not Korea. London, London, 221b." I told myself, forcing myself to breathe. **Remember Redbeard, his fur under my hands, licking my face every time I got near him. Redbeard liked baths, used to get ecstatic over them, soaked the whole bathroom every time. Mummy used to be cross with him until she saw me laughing with him, soaked through like the dog. She'd soften up then, drying us both off before setting us lose on Mycroft.** Better, just think of that, not the water boarding, that was over now, it was all over.

_Yes, even Redbeard is over, because he's dead._ Thank you _so much_ for that reminder. Not like I wasn't already struggling through a shower without remembering that _lovely_ childhood memory.

"Sherlock! You're phone just pinged, it could be Lestrade with a case!" Mrs Hudson shouted as I stepped out of the tub. I doubted that, I wasn't technically alive yet.... It could have been Mycroft telling me I was officially alive though... Or John! Maybe John wanted to text me back! _Doubt it, he hates you. He won't be texting, not his style._ Yeah, calling was more his style... Still could be Mycroft with the good news that I was in the land of the living again!

I rushed to dress and out into the front room, grabbing the phone from my chair, hair still dripping as I opened Mycroft's text.

**'Welcome to the land of the living brother mine. You can start up cases whenever you like. - MH’** It read, oh thank God for that.

I begrudgingly thanked him and swiftly sent a text to Lestrade to tell him the news too, as he wanted to hear it.

**'Great news! Haven't got anything for the moment for you, bit of a quiet one today. But I'll let you know the second there is anything!'** Lestrade answered within ten minutes. I felt like I could breathe at that reply, hoping for a case by the end of the week. Just one, a simple one if needs be. Just _anything_ that felt like normal. I wanted normal right now, cases, chases, solving puzzles, all of it. Hell, even the arguments with Donovan and Anderson would be welcomed!

At the moment everything still felt so out of place, like I was here, but I wasn't _here._ I was just, sort of in limbo. Stuck between the mission of taking down Moriarty's web and coming home and continuing life again. _And that's because John isn't here._ Probably. He wasn't here and that was the main difference. But it was also the flashbacks, the pain from my back, the lack of sleep, the lack of appetite. All of it, it wasn't... It wasn't _normal._ My appetite and need for sleep went during cases, but I wasn't on a case, wasn't forcing those two needs away to stay alert so I didn't get killed. _I was home,_ and yet it didn't feel like I was.

It was a bit like before I met John, when I was living here by myself. I was physically home, but it didn't feel like it, there were things missing, the dark loneliness setting in. The feeling of being an outcast again was setting in, like I didn't fit anywhere, that I wasn't wanted or needed.

_You were only John's adrenaline rush anyway. He didn't actually care you know, he just needed the adrenaline rush you brought him, it's why he stayed._ Well yes, but he'd still been kind to me while he lived here, talked and looked after me when I forgot to. He'd treated me just that little bit better than the people he worked with, said my deductions were brilliant and fantastic, come along with me no matter what we were doing for the case. And by doing that, he'd made me feel, well, _human,_ for the first time in my life.

But now I was sat here by myself, in an empty flat. Only the ruder version of his voice in my head to keep me company while the real one was out there, despising me for lying to him about my status as a living human being. It hurt, deep down, it really hurt to know that I'd betrayed him that much. I'd only been trying to save his life, and this was the only option given to me. If there had been any other way, I would have done it, but there hadn't been. It was jump, pretend to die and go on a mission I might not come back from to take down the web, or watch him, Lestrade and Mrs Hudson die. And so I chose their lives over mine, I'd do it every time if given the option, no competition.

Though if I'd known that things were going to end up like this, empty and alone in this flat, feeling isolated from the world and almost trapped inside my own head, waiting for a case to take my mind off it. I would have reconsidered, possibly given John a sign that I was alive, a puzzle for him to solve so he wasn't so angry. If he was here, maybe I'd feel whole again, wouldn't feel the need to stim, would actually sleep, turn my brain off. Maybe, if he was here, I'd not feel so bad, not like I was tip toeing everywhere, terrified to put a foot out of line and end up even worse off than I was now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank for the comments and kudos, can't believe I've got over 100 kudos! It means a lot, so thank you!


	23. Chapter 23

22 Sherlock's POV

I ended up sitting in the flat by myself for another two days before Lestrade called me up, telling me that there was a case he wanted me to look at. I agreed to come within seconds, pulling my coat on before I'd even hung up as I rushed out the door, practically tripping down the stairs as I did so.

"Case, Sherlock?" Mrs Hudson asked, still drying a pan as she stood in her doorway.

"A case finally, looks like a suicide, but Lestrade isn't convinced!" I grinned, feeling genuinely excited at the prospect. _Normal life,_ the thing I was craving more than anything, was coming back! Cases, distractions from thoughts, chases around London, _puzzles to solve._ Oh it was going to be great! Back in my element again! At last! _Until you screw it up. You haven't slept properly in weeks; you're not as sharp as usual. You're going to miss something and they'll think you've lost it._ To hell with that they would! I would be fine, get distracted for a while, get that post case high and then I'd sleep and things would go back to normal!

"Good to see you so excited again Sherlock. Now go, the game is on, isn't it?" Mrs Hudson laughed, shooing me out the door.

I grabbed a taxi and drove to the crime scene, feeling more and more like normal as I saw the police cars parked up, officers milling about. Lestrade was just outside the tape, looking a bit nervous as I got out the car, though he tried to hide it as I walked up to him. _He's scared you've lost it. Or you will lose it._ Oh shut up. Don't ruin this for me John.

"Sherlock, there you are! Now I know that this probably isn't on your usual scale of interesting, but it is a bit of a puzzle for you. A good one to start you off with." _He's testing you._

"Good, now what do we know?" I asked, ducking under the crime scene tape as he lifted it for me.

"Male, mid-thirties. He's been dead only a few hours, slit his wrists and neck in the bathtub. It looks like a suicide, but I don't know, it looks a bit iffy to me. Don't know why, but it does look iffy." Lestrade explained, as he spoke my brain felt like it clicked into gear. Absorbing that information, deductions from everywhere else filtered into the background. I could still read the life stories of all the officers around me, but it wasn't as overwhelming, not like when I'd gone shopping with Mrs Hudson. That felt like my brain was going to explode with all the input it was receiving, but right now it wasn't. The case was taking priority, calming everything else down, just like it should be.

_Just wait until you see the blood, you remember the last time you saw blood, don't you? In Serbia, you had a gun then, you shot people. You **killed** people. _Shhh.

"You okay there?" Lestrade raised an eyebrow.

"Fine. Just thinking." I covered, following him into the house and up to the bathroom.

The second I stepped inside I stopped in my tracks, there was so much blood. So much blood. It was everywhere, turning the bathwater pink and spraying up the wall, dripping down the side of the bath, leaving marks running down the side and onto the floor. There was so much, just so much blood.

_Just like Serbia, all that blood from all those soldiers, their dead eyes staring at nothing. All killed by your hand, those gloved hands of yours caused all that death and destruction, left all those bodies. Blood dripping down the walls, over the floor, covering you all over._

No, no this was not Serbia. Still London, still very much London. I hadn't caused this; I hadn't caused this at all. This was someone else, not me. Now I had to focus. The body was of a mid thirties male, the cut marks were straight, made with steady hands, they weren't shaking at all. No signs of hesitance, _just like you didn't hesitate killing all those people. Can you feel the sticky blood still on your hands? Can you feel it coating your skin, sticking your clothes to your body?_ No I couldn't because I wasn't there right now. The cut to the neck would have been difficult; the wrists would have already been cut and therefore would have been shaking with nerve damage.

_You're surrounded by police, if they notice your hesitance; they'll know what you did. They'll know you've killed people, they may be stupid, but they're not that stupid. They already think you're a psychopathic murderer, they'll arrest you, and not even Mycroft could save you from the life sentence you'll get for it._

No, that was not happening, I had no choice, I didn't have a choice in killing those people. I was fighting for my life, to get home. _But the plan was always to kill them. Every plan involved murder, you killed so many, killed the entire web in cold blood._

"Ah, the Freak has arrived. Finally done playing hide-and-destroy-everyone-around-me's-feelings?" Donavan hissed, _she knows! She knows!_ No she didn't! She didn't know! Nobody knew! It was all top secret! How could anybody know?! Nothing I did made the news, it was all covered up! _She's always known what you're capable of, killer. She's always known you'd turn into a killer, and a serial killer at that. That's what you are, a serial killer._ No!

"The, they've been murdered. The cuts are too steady, if it was suicide, they'd be signs of hesitation, but there wasn't any. This is a murder, made to look like a suicide." I ignored her, gritting my teeth as the feeling of warm, sticky blood trickling down my face came back. I could almost feel the guns and knives in my hands, hear their strangled chokes as they tried to gasp for breath, hear the snap of their necks. _They're going to figure you out. They're going to figure out you're a killer. Either that or see that you're struggling and force you out of here, never to work with you again. Nobody wants the crime solving machine to have feelings and have them get in the way._

I rushed out of the room, heading back down the stairs. I needed air, I needed air right now!

"Where's John? Has he broken out of the Stockholm Syndrome you had him in and realised that you're a psychopath?" Donovan spat as I raced out the house, running down the road and down an alleyway, heaving in breath.

_She's right. You've practically Stockholm'd John, gave him the adrenaline rushes he needed and trapped him in the flat, made him believe that he actually liked you so he didn't move out. You were **that** desperate for a friend you resorted to conditioning someone with PTSD into liking you, before pitching yourself off a roof and coming back. He's realised that you're a psychopath. How do you think he'd feel knowing you killed people too, confirming that psychopath idea? _No, no, I wasn't that, I wasn't. I didn't do that to him, I didn't condition him. I didn't know how. _Don't lie. You know how to condition someone; you know how to condition them and how to kill them. Inflict the most amount of pain on them._ But I didn't do that to John, I didn't do that to John.

_Donovan thinks you did. And she'll keep a close eye on you, closer than usual. She's going to realise that you're a killer too and have you arrested. Have fun in prison._

"Sherlock, there you are! You okay there, you ran off pretty fast!" Lestrade ran up, I snapped up to standing upright, mask on. Projecting out that I was fine, absolutely fine. Just breathing heavily... _fuck._

"I'm fine." I lied, Lestrade didn't buy it. _Of course he didn't. He's already on red alert with you, courtesy of Mycroft. After a stunt like that he's going to be even more wary of you. Carry on like this and you can say bye to crime scenes for the rest of your life and you can say hello to prison, or some mental health facility under maximum security._

"No you're not. You're as white as a sheet and ready to collapse. Now come with me, I’m taking you home; you're not in any state to be here." Lestrade pushed me towards his car, “Just lay down in the back for me before you actually do pass out." He put me in the back, I did as told, but not before I saw a few officers laughing.

"Think he's getting arrested?" One whispered to another, I gulped. _You're getting arrested! You're going down for murder!_ No, I couldn't... How did they know? How could they have possibly have known?  

"Sorry about Donovan there Sherlock. I thought that she'd be easier on you after everything that happened, I guess I was wrong. She's been kicked off the case and I'm writing her up for all of that, it was uncalled for." Lestrade was talking as he drove _towards the police station. Definitely towards Scotland Yard. He's listened to Donovan and you're going **down,** you serial killing **murderer.**_

I didn't mean to! I was sorry, so sorry for it! I didn't, there was no other choice! There was no other choice!

"What was that kiddo?" Lestrade made me realise that I was talking out loud.

"Nothing. Just... trying to figure out who could have done that murder. Probably a lover or someone." I lied again, feeling a migraine start to make an appearance. Just what I needed right now.

"Fair enough. Don't think about it for now though okay? Just relax down there; we'll do all the criminal catching this time." Lestrade said. _Well they've already caught you today. The world is going to be a better place without you, it always has been._

"Here we are, Baker Street." I shot up in surprise at the words, Baker Street? Lestrade had brought me home?

"Baker Street? Not Scotland Yard?" I found myself asking before I realised it.

"Of course! You're in no state to be running around on cases; we started far too soon, far too soon. So come on, back upstairs to your flat, we'll get you into bed so you can sleep it off for a while." Lestrade pulled me gently up to my flat. I barely resisted asking him why he wasn't arresting me; surely he'd figured it all out like Donovan? _Of course he has, he just doesn't want to give up his favourite robot yet. But when the time comes, he's going to be knocking down that door and arresting you. Just like before the fall._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kudos and comments, they mean so much still! :D


	24. Chapter 24

23 Sherlock's POV

Lestrade only let me go once I'd gotten into bed, pulling the sheets over my body, despite my protests.

"I'm fine Lestrade; I don't need to lie down." I tried to push the covers away, though the detective was having none of it.

"I've heard that before, and I'm not buying it Sherlock. You're about ready to pass out, so you're laying down, okay? If you don't want to, you don't have to sleep, but I'm not having you running about right now." Lestrade pushed me down again; I bit back a shout of pain as I landed on my back. _Fuck_ that hurt.

"You worry too much. I was done with the deduction, so I was leaving. There's _nothing_ wrong with me." _Apart from the fact that you haven't slept in days, can't even shower without having a panic attack, and just freaked out at a crime scene._ Shut up damn it!

"Yes there is, and don't tell me to shut up. You made a promise to me to look after yourself, and I'm going to make you honour that promise, got it? Now I'm going to phone John, get him to come round and take a look at you, because I know you'll refuse help from anybody but him." Lestrade turned to leave.

"No!" I grabbed his arm, "You can't. He... He won't come over. He's not... He just won't come over." I looked away from the pitying look Lestrade was giving me. _He thinks you're pathetic because you've lost the only person who ever cared. And that's only because you made him._

"I'm sure he'll come if he knows that you're not well. Maybe you can work it all out while he's here too." Lestrade tugged on his sleeve, I didn't let go.

"He doesn't want to work it out. I betrayed him; he's out of the picture now. It doesn't matter anyway, I'll be fine. Probably just a sugar crash or something." I felt another pang of pain bolt through my chest as I said that John was out of the picture. It didn't feel right to say it, to know that I really meant it. _John wasn't coming back,_ words could not describe how much that feeling hurt. _Not unlike you don't deserve it._

"Alright, alright I won't call him. But I'm calling your brother, he'll want to know about this, and I'll send up Mrs Hudson to keep an eye on you... I don't think you should come to crime scenes for a while either, not until you've got your strength up again, it was a mistake to call you in so early. I'm sorry for that... I can bring you a few cold cases though, they've been building up over the past couple of years, I'll bring you a few to keep you occupied for the mean time." Lestrade sighed, a guilty look on his face as he apologised.

"I'll be fine by tomorrow, I always am." I promised, I didn't want cases being taken from me, didn't want to be pushed away by even more people. I needed to prove that I was still of use, and I'd screwed up today, but I'd be back to rights by tomorrow, I was sure.

"We'll see about that. But I still want you to have more recovery time; you seriously look like death warmed up. All pale and skinny, you're burning up too, so you need a rest, and a good one. The cold cases won't be too strenuous, but should be enough to keep you occupied until you're ready to get back into the swing of things. For now though, lie down and let me call your brother and get Mrs Hudson up here to keep you company. I'll never forgive myself if I was the one who left you to break." Lestrade pushed me back into bed and I let him, starting to feel exhausted.

_Go on then, power down like the machine you are and have more nightmares. Really freak others out and get your one way ticket to the looney bin. Maybe there you might get away from being investigated for murder, so you may get away with it._

\---

Lestrade left soon after making a few phone calls, Mrs Hudson bustled around and fussed over me for a good long while and then Mycroft came in too, just to complete the circle of fussing people. I groaned when he turned up, ducking under the duvet to hide whatever I looked like, knowing Mycroft could read me like a book, no matter how much I hid than usual.

"Brother mine, what a day it has been for you." Mycroft's voice carried through the room, the sound of him sitting down... He sat in John's chair, I cringed at the thought. Now I wasn't even going to be able to sit in that without smelling and seeing traces of my brother there.

"Go away Mycroft." I grumbled, burying into the pillow.

"I will not, you nearly passed out at a crime scene, which was not a very smart move now was it?" I could hear the smug glee in his voice, _bastard._

"Whatever, it was nothing. Sugar crash or something. I've been fed more cake, the _last_ of it by the way, so you're not getting any. And now I'll be fine." I lied; I had barely eaten the cake, but felt rather sick as I consumed it. At least I hadn't actually thrown up...

"Of course you will be. And that's why you're hiding under you duvet like a child again, I thought we'd outgrown that years ago _Sherlock._ " Mycroft laughed at the mention of my name.

"Do _not_ bring up that part of our childhood again." I hissed at him, chucking the duvet off to glare at the fat asshole.

"You brought it up when you called me by that less than desirable name when you made your little request a few days ago; I'm just continuing the trend." Mycroft played innocently with his umbrella.

"I was emotionally compromised then! You can't hold it against me!" I growled, how could he use that against me?! I'd been asking him for help for the countless time in two years, how could he mock me for it?!

"I've told you before Sherlock, caring is not an advantage, think of Redbeard and where that got you." Mycroft didn't even look at me as he sat it, his face a complete mask of indifference.

"It's not my fault our parents deemed him useless to me and got rid of him." I hid the new pang of pain at the mention of Redbeard and his death behind anger. _Really? After nearly twenty years, you’re still upset over a dog?!_

"How many times Sherlock? He was not 'deemed useless or too much work' he got cancer and had to be put down to be taken out of his misery. We deemed to tell you that he was given to a farm to help people who needed him more to spare your feelings." Mycroft rolled his eyes.

"Until you told me differently." I hissed back.

"Because you were getting too old to believe that, and you were getting rather annoying, keeping on asking to visit him every time you came home from school. I decided to tell you to stop it, and teach you a lesson, which I am reiterating now, _caring is not an advantage._ And caring about John and letting crime scenes effect you as they are is causing you a great deal of trouble. I suggest you forget about John Watson and repress these feelings, forget these memories of your time away and carry on, otherwise you may end up in therapy, and we all know how _that_ ends." Mycroft glanced at my hands, which were tapping out various rhythms against each other.

"Don't you think I'm _trying,_ I'm not like you Mycroft, I can't just push everything down and away." I watched him make his way to the door.

"You learnt well enough as a child, relearn to do it. You claim to be a sociopath, prove that you are one." With that, Mycroft left, though he stopped to quickly tell Mrs Hudson that I was in need of being looked after.

At the thought, I flung myself back down onto my side, gasping as my back and ribs protested, but curling up anyway. _Congratulations, you're now back to being treated like a special needs boy, only this time it's not for Aspergers. You're now just being looked at as pathetic and unable to look after yourself. You stupid, stupid idiot._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you so much for the comments and kudos, this is my NaNoWriMo project, and I was starting to lose a bit of focus (blame tiredness and early uni days, mixed in with assignments) but the comments/kudos are spurring me on brilliantly!


	25. Chapter 25

24 Sherlock's POV

Over the course of another week, I solved all of Lestrade's cold cases, put on another six pounds in weight thanks to being given a tonne of protein shakes and practically having Mrs Hudson's cooking forced down my throat, and managed to perfect my mask of indifference again. I retaught myself to act like absolutely nothing was wrong, not having a twitch out of place, storing everything up for when I was alone. Even then I knew Mycroft was watching, but at least it was _only_ him watching. He wouldn't do anything to stop me going to crime scenes or anything for being 'unstable,' not after he'd told me to repress emotions and memories, act like the sociopath I claimed to be.

So that's what I did, I went back to how I was pre-John. A loner with sharp edges, just _daring_ anybody to question me, pushing everyone I could away so they didn't get close and notice the cracks around the edges. Because, _damn_ it was difficult to pretend that everything was fine. Seeing some crime scene photos were enough to remind me of what I'd done, leaving me fighting off panic attacks and feeling like I was still in that moment. It took everything to fight that down and get back to the task at hand, leave it until I got home and was alone.

Though, not even being home helped much if I was honest, Mrs Hudson liked to hover more than usual, constantly popping in to make sure I was okay and well fed. She liked to talk too, not about murder or anything, just about the general things about her day, things I generally found beyond dull. Now I found it insanity inducing, not being able to stand hearing someone talking about _normality,_ like this was all _normal._ None of this was normal!

I was feeling more alone than ever, unable to delete my feelings or shove them completely out of the way. My brain wouldn't stop showing Technicolor HD flashbacks of my time away whenever I saw something similar to what I'd done or witnessed, my back felt like it was on _fire_ all the time and nothing was touching it. I couldn't even bend myself far enough to see what was going on there, I couldn't deduce it by feel alone and couldn't ask anybody else to have a look. If they saw, then they'd start asking questions, and I'd have to tell them about Serbia and Korea, explain all the wounds and scars. There was nothing I wanted less than for them to not figure it out. It would only get me pity, I didn't want pity, I wanted things to go back to normal! But nothing was normal! I couldn't be who I was before John, and didn't want to go back to that isolated existence again, I wanted him here. What I wouldn't have given for John to be here again.

"Oh Sherlock, your phone is going off, aren't you going to get it?" Mrs Hudson brought my attention to my phone, which was actually ringing.

I took it off her and answered it, cutting off the annoying ringtone that grated on my ears, finding that it was Lestrade on the other line.

"Hey Sherlock, now I know I said that I was giving you a rest and everything. But I have this crime scene, think you can come and take a look? I totally understand if you can't, but we are a bit desperate over here." Lestrade asked, _he doesn't want 'no' for an answer. Go and prove you're worth as a crime solving machine._

"I'll be fine, where's the crime scene?" I asked, already heading for my coat and shrugging it on. A bit of anxiety was starting to bubble up in my stomach but I wasn't going to let that stop me, I'd be just fine, I was sure of it. Just push the emotions away as best as I could, think sociopath, _be Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective, crime solving machine. Emotionless, uncaring machine._ I pulled my coat closer to myself at the thought.

Lestrade gave me the address and I set off towards it, calming myself with deep breaths, knowing I could do this. Just a crime scene, just a simple crime scene. A crime scene, a puzzle to solve, keep the mind occupied enough to sleep for a bit. How long had it been without more than three hours sleep? Five, six days? Longer? I didn't know, didn't want to know either. Didn't want to know just how bad my mind was willing to punish me. _Just enough to trip you into insanity, back to the mental health facilities. Only this time, you'll have the whole of Scotland Yard and John laughing at you._ Nope, wasn't thinking about that right now. Crime scene ahead. Lovely, lovely crime scene.

"There you are Sherlock! You're looking better than you did, that's for sure! Good to see you actually looking human!" Lestrade smiled, _oh you look human today! Great, might actually get mistaken for one soon, don't want that now do we? Humans break, you **can't** break. _

"Where's the crime scene?" I asked, pushing the niceties away. I knew I promised during my time away to be nicer and more human, but now I was back, it was impossible. Human meant weakness, I couldn't have weaknesses, they'd make the mask slip. If the mask slipped, the horror going on inside my head would be unleashed and that would be it. I'd be straight to prison for basically being a serial killer, or committed to the nearest high security psych ward. I bit back a shudder at the thought. _Don't let the mask slip!_ I wasn't, now **quit talking.**

"Right this way. Got a woman this time, it's a bit curious." Lestrade pulled me towards a warehouse, I huddled myself into my coat as I started seeing just why this was a nasty case.

The body looked like it was more of a rag doll, flopped lifelessly on its back, eyes staring at the ceiling.

"What's so curious about this one?" I couldn't see anything untoward.

"Well, here's the thing. She was shot through the head, and there's no exit wound, but there's no clear bullet inside her. We can't find anything, no shell cases, no bullet, no sign that it's been pulled out either." Lestrade explained... curious.

 I hesitated a step closer, metaphorically pulling on the mask and stepping back into Sherlock Holmes Mode, examining the body as I did so.

**Female, 25-30 years of age. No ID. Shot through the head cause of death.** _Blood smattering the walls and myself as the bullet passed through the now disposed of enemy._ **Dressed in average clothes.  No sign as to why she would have been killed yet.** _Glassy eyes staring into nothingness, landing on the floor with a sickening crunch._ No, push it back, push it back.

**No gun powder marks near the head, or signs of anything to indicate bullet extraction. Didn't look much like a bullet wound either.** _Fingers getting sticky as the bullet was extracted, organs squelching and still warm as my fingers dug into the body to find the used bullet._

"Okay there Sherlock? Too much?" Lestrade asked, his hand landing on my back. Fire bolts went through my entire body, feeling _so much_ like the blow torch. Not the blow torch, anything but the damn blow torch!

The smell of sizzling flesh invaded my nose, the pain searing, and the sound of laughter at my screams rung through my ears. It was going to burn through my shoulder, I wasn't getting out of this, _I was going to die here in this cell._

 I couldn't hold back the screams, not this time, this time it was too much, far too much. So I let out an almighty scream, the most noise I'd made in weeks, clutching at my ears in the desperate attempt to _make it stop._ I didn't want to die! Not here! Not so far away from home, not without seeing John again. Please, just make it stop; I'd do anything, just _make it stop!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I'm going to say thank you SO MUCH for all the comments/kudos. They do honestly mean the world to me, and looking over them gives me so much confidence in myself and cheer me up after tough days, so it means the absolute world. Thank you!


	26. Chapter 26

25 Lestrade's POV                                               

Everyone on the crime scene jumped back at the sound of Sherlock screaming, taken aback at the fact that _Sherlock was screaming._ I'd never heard such a pained sound, never heard him beg for anything, let alone to _make it stop._ Make _what_ stop, was he in pain? Had I caused him pain? But how? I had barely touched him... Then again, he'd looked peaky when he first got here, still felt a bit too warm to the touch. Could he have been ill? _Could this be something from his time away?_

"Make it stop! P-please, I-I'll do anything, just make it stop!" Sherlock cried out, snapping me from staring.

"Everybody out of here!" I shouted to the officers staring, the last thing Sherlock needed was an audience to this... Whatever this was. "Hey, hey kiddo, it's me. It's Lestrade, what needs to stop?" I crouched in front of the slumped man, hesitating in reaching out to grab his arms, but needing to so I could stop him yanking at his curls.

"Get off! Let me go! Let me go!" Sherlock struggled out of my grip, shoving me over. Though he made no move to run away, sobbing to himself as he curled into a ball, "Sorry, sorry. I-I can't, I tried, but... But I can't, it just... It _hurts_ and he's not here... Be quiet, please be quiet." He begged into his knees, seemingly coming back from wherever he'd been.

My heart broke as I heard it, I'd never seen him look so, well, _distraught._ He was always so well put together, to the point where I wondered if he was actually a robot. But the past two crime scenes, he'd been so jumpy and not himself, something was up here. There was more to his time away than he was letting anybody know, he needed help. Help I couldn't give him. I could get him someplace safe though, where he could get help.

"Alright Sherlock, let's get you home shall we?" _And then I'll call John... and Mycroft._ Sherlock was going to kill me for phoning his brother at the very least, but I wasn't going to let this go on without him knowing, unless he already knew, the man seemed to know things about Sherlock before Sherlock even knew. Kinda creepy in that respect I had to admit.

Carefully, I pulled the six foot consulting detective to his feet, being very gentle with him before letting him walk outside. Well, I say walk, more like shuffled, hunched over inside his own coat like it would protect him from the world. I noticed that his fingers were twitching again too, more so than usual, in a particular pattern. First finger twitch, then third, second then fourth. Then in usual order, then first, fourth, second and third. Over and over, not stopping until we got outside and we heard:

"Hello brother dear, having another bad day I see?" Mycroft Holmes stood by that blacked out car, leaning on that damn umbrella of his, casual as anything.

"How the _hell_ did you know to come here?" I blurted out, standing between the brothers unconsciously. I'd always been a bit wary of the omnipresent older Holmes brother, the smarmy git was always there when Sherlock hit a spot of bother, and from what I could decipher from their conversations, he liked to rub his brother's misfortunes in his face. Sure he got him out of a few scrapes too, proved mighty useful in keeping Sherlock out of jail and away from drugs, but with everything else seemed like a thinly veiled threat, or gloating over something only the two knew about.

"I've been watching out for Sherlock, you know that he's not been well as of late, I was just making sure that he was okay after that little display in there." Mycroft made Sherlock wince when he gave him a _look._

"Go away Mycroft." Sherlock whispered, looking more defeated than I'd seen him in all the years I'd known him.

"Not until we get you situated back at 221B safe and sound. You know Mummy would be very disappointed and worried if she found out that you'd found your own way home in a state." Mycroft said completely calmly... I _think_ that was his way of saying that he wanted to make sure Sherlock was okay.

"I can drive him Mycroft; make sure he gets there safe." I stepped in, feeling the tension radiating off Sherlock. God knew what he would have been told on the car ride, or if he'd even get back home. I wouldn't put it past Mycroft to take matters into his own hands and cart him off to a psychiatric ward far away without informing anybody.

"Very well," Mycroft looked put out at the idea, "I shall follow along behind, there are a few things that we need to discuss brother mine." He gave Sherlock another imposing look before getting back into his car and heading off.

Without a word Sherlock ducked into my own car, so I followed suit. For a second, I entertained the idea of taking him back to my place to give him some time to collect his thoughts but decided against it when I saw him wince as he moved. A second later, his usual mask had slammed back up again, hands jammed under his legs, leaning away from the seat, looking for the entire world like normal. If just a bit... well, _in pain._

"Don't think of sending me to a hospital. I'll be fine Lestrade." Sherlock told me at normal level, not even a quiver in his voice.

"You sure? I saw that wince, and after what happened in there, maybe you should get yourself checked out." I started driving towards the flat, but ready to change course at any time.

"It's fine. I'm fine. Just a temporary lapse of judgement, nothing more." Sherlock explained, trust him to say that whatever he'd experienced in there was a temporary lapse of judgement and not admit to being in pain, whether it be physical or mental. From his posture, I was guessing physical.

"If you say so. But you know I can still call John for you, if you really don't want to go to hospital or anywhere." Another wince came from that.

"I've told you, John won't come. He's... indisposed." Sherlock sighed, a second of hurt flitting across his eyes.

"Indisposed meaning hating on you for the fall?" Even I winced as I said it, _good going Greg, make the poor lad worse._

"You've seen him recently; you don't need me to answer that." Sherlock answered, as I glanced at him, I didn't see the great man that had become a legend. I saw the clean version of the kid I first met, twenty-eight years old, brain bigger than he could deal with, so alone in the world. I'd seen him learn to cope a bit better with that mind of his, but slowly shrink back from people, only speaking to blurt deductions and insults when others insulted him. There had been a time when I'd wanted to ask him to hang out, but where could you take an ex-junkie with an IQ higher than Einstein?

Things had gotten better with John, I'd seen Sherlock _smile and laugh_ with the man, become a bit more human and less robotic. But now, it looked like someone had taken that great man and ripped everything he'd held dear to him away, and then stamped on him for good measure. Poor sod. I wondered if John knew if this was what he was doing to Sherlock. Probably not, the man was angry, but I was sure he wasn't angry enough to leave him looking like this, having panic attacks and screaming just from a touch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to everybody who's commented, this fic has gone over the 100 comment mark, and it feels like such a huge achievement, so a HUGE thank you for all the encouraging comments on this! I'm still open for constructive criticism, even if it is just a grammar mistake that needs pointing out, I don't have a beta reader so I have to edit this myself and it's so easy to miss a grammatical mistake in something I've written, so I'm all for anybody telling me that I've spelled something wrong/made a grammatical error.   
> My twitter is still @corruptedpov  
> Tumblr: effulgentcorruptedpov.tumblr.com  
> And my youtube account, where I post vlogs and such if you are interested in that kind of stuff is dreamingofwriting!


	27. Chapter 27

26 Sherlock's POV

I tried to pretend that I was fine in the car with Lestrade, but I knew that he wasn't going to believe me at all. He'd seen me; he'd seen that lapse of judgement. I hadn't meant to scream, really, I hadn't. It just... It _hurt_ when his hand touched my back, like it had been set on fire. The pain had them forced me to remember the blow torch in one of the cells and it had caused a flashback. Nothing to worry about really, I was over it now. Completely over it. Didn't matter anymore, and it wouldn't happen again either. Not in front of anybody. I'd be more careful next time, make sure to block out everything and focus in on the case at hand.

Worry was radiating off Lestrade as he drove, he glanced at me several times over. Every time he did I could see the fear in his eyes as he tried to deduce what was wrong with me. _He's scared that he's lost his crime solving machine. He could declare you defective now, and if he doesn't, Mycroft probably will. He said that you need to discuss things with him; he's going to send you to a psych ward and throw away the key._ No he wasn't, I'd fight him if it came to it. He wouldn't be able to take me in a fight; he'd never had to fight a day in his life, just a few weeks ago _I_ had been fighting for my life. I'd take on his minions too, fight for my own freedom _again._

_Oh but it would be so much better in a ward. They'd keep you nicely drugged up, so everything is in a haze, no more mile a minute thoughts, a nice set routine. It would be lovely._ No it damn well wouldn't, I didn't care what anybody said; it would _not_ be fun in any capacity. I'd been there with rehab, several times. I wasn't going back if I could help it.

"So, here we are, Baker Street. Looks like your brother isn't here yet, we can always divert off somewhere, to a hospital or something, get you checked out." Lestrade spoke up as he stopped the car. _Apparently he's in on the 'hide the defective machine' plan._

"Not you too Lestrade, I'm _fine._ For God's sake why does nobody believe that?" I growled, getting out and storming up the stairs, "Mrs Hudson, if you hear shouting and such from upstairs, know that I'm killing my brother, it's nothing to worry about." I called to my landlady as she stepped out her own flat.

"Sherlock you really shouldn't threaten such things you know, he is only trying to look out for you." Mrs Hudson sighed; I didn't give her a response to that, just stormed upstairs and flopped into my chair, willing the pain and the panic to go away. If Mycroft really planned on taking me away after my display today he had every power to get me, I could fight all I liked, he'd find a way to get me anywhere he wanted. He'd always managed it; he wasn't going to stop now. And if he was here to say that he was banning me from crime scenes, there was nothing I could do to stop him. To be honest, there was nothing I could do to stop him doing _anything_ to make my life hell, well; more hellish that it was already.

Footsteps soon appeared on the stairs, two sets of them. One slightly heavy set, the other lighter, with the added click of the umbrella. Lestrade and Mycroft. Great I was up against _both_ of them, just what I needed right now when I could still feel fear from the flashback trickling through my body, the pain in my back a steady throb.

"Come to gloat about my weakness and send me away, brother dear?" I sneered at my brother as he walked inside, as calm as ever. I hated it when he was this calm, usually meant he was up to something.

"Send you away? Of course not, we all know how that turns out don't we?" The mocking in Mycroft's tone wasn't even disguised in the slightest.

"Yes, and it's rather satisfying giving you that headache." It was, the only good thing about getting kicked out of various facilities was the annoyance Mycroft felt at it.

"We know how much you love to cause those." Mycroft commented dryly, distain in his voice, _he hates you._ Good, I wasn't fond of him much right now either.

"Boys, shall we talk about this calmly?" Lestrade spoke up, glancing between the two of us like we were about to go for each other's throats.

"What I am actually here for is to discuss your health." Mycroft ignored him.

"Twice in a month? Wow I must be ill." I rolled my eyes sarcastically, I really was fine. I was working through it all, learning to cope rather well all things considered. I had a routine going, I was _coping,_ and concern didn't need to be given.

"Detective Inspector, I think it's time you leave, this is a conversation for the two of us." Mycroft barely turned to look at Lestrade.

"I think I should stay." Lestrade replied, standing his ground.

"Leave Lestrade, you really don't want to hear this, you won't understand half of it anyway." I shooed him off. The topic of my health was probably going to bring up Serbia, Korea and half a dozen other places too; I'd rather he didn't hear any of it.

"Fine, but I'll text later on to make sure you're okay. And... rest a few days, alright? I've said it a lot, but rest, I'll bring round some more cold cases for you to work on so you're not completely bored." Lestrade reluctantly left, I sighed as he did so. _More_ rest? If I got anymore of this 'rest' I was going to go mad from boredom. I didn't want or need rest; I needed _cases,_ distractions, midnight chases through London! Not laying about on a sofa, being fed huge meals and protein shakes by Mrs Hudson.

Once he'd shut the downstairs door and driven off, Mycroft spoke. "Apparently you're not very good at playing sociopath anymore." He sat on the sofa and crossed his legs.

"Shut up, I was doing just fine until Lestrade touched my back, which is still very painful, thanks for asking." I hissed, holding in another wince as I moved and sent another flare of agony across my spine.

"I was operating under the impression that hiding physical pain was one of your specialities." Mycroft played idly with his umbrella; I sometimes wanted to snap that thing in half.

"Try being whipped and beaten with a copper pipe, with intermittent cooking sessions with a blow torch; see how much pain _you_ can hide then." I glared at him; he literally had no idea did he? He hadn't even seen what it was like in that cell, barely gave my injuries a glance when his doctor had been looking me over. He thought it was all so easy, could compartmentalise everything into little boxes, push it all aside to focus on more important things. Well I _couldn't,_ I wasn't like that, I tried to be, God did I try to be, but I couldn't. I could pretend that I was unaffected, but I couldn't make myself stop feeling it, stop _caring._

"That is a fair point, but you still shouldn't be in this much pain now. The doctor told you that you'd stop feeling as much pain after a week or so, but yours has gotten worse. You haven't been looking after yourself have you?" Mycroft smirked at me, like this was more evidence against whatever idea he had in his head. Could he at least _pretend_ to care about more than his reputation for a _minute?_

"It's rather difficult to treat and bandage your back when you can't see what you're doing. And no, I couldn't ask Mrs Hudson, she wouldn't know where to start and let it all out to everybody who listened." I read his mind before he could even ask.

"And you wouldn't like to be seen as anything less than indestructible, would you? Sherlock Holmes, the myth and legend, being in pain just wouldn't do would it?" Mycroft smirked again, _bastard._

"More like being overly mothered and not being treated like usual." I defended. If it got out that I was actually in actual pain, then I would be mothered and treated like an invalid, not allowed to do my damn job properly. That was the _last_ thing I wanted.

_"Too late for that."_ Both Mycroft and the voice in my head chorused.

"Yes, rather. So what do you want anyway? Why are you here, get to the point so I can 'rest' as everyone wants." I changed the subject; I didn't want to be around Mycroft anymore. I didn't like being around him while agitated as it was, let alone after today's disaster.

"Well I was going to tell you that I was sending round a doctor to deal with your symptoms, but now it seems that I'll be taking you to a hospital to be checked out." Mycroft took out his phone.

"What? I'm not going to a hospital! I'm fine!" I jumped up, unable to stop the wince that time.

"And that's why you're wincing and screaming every time you move and get touched is it? I don't think so Sherlock. You need to be checked out by someone who knows what they're doing right now." Mycroft stood too, using the usual 'don't mess with my plans' look.

"I'm not going to a hospital. Send someone here; I'm not going to one of those places." I _hated_ hospitals with a passion, no matter how private they were. They were always too loud and busy, filled with people bustling about, the lights gave me migraines to end all migraines, and generally the places just put me right off anything.

"Ah yes, I'd nearly forgotten about your aversion to hospitals, due to your living with a doctor," I bit back a retort about John, _who isn't here,_ "I shall see to it that a medical professional comes to see to you here then. To get some fluids and a diagnosis on why you're in so much pain, and a possible pain relief.  They'll be here by tomorrow at the latest, in between that time, don't cause anymore scenes, and try to not hurt yourself further." Mycroft left soon after, already calling somebody.

Well, at least I'd partly got what I wanted...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The kudos and comments have made my week again, I've had such a stressful week, thanks to uni assignments and NaNoWriMo, seeing your comments and kudos have really cheered me up!


	28. Chapter 28

27 Mycroft's POV

As soon as I left Sherlock's flat, I phoned a contact who could procure medical equipment to help with Sherlock's pain. I admittedly didn't have much knowledge in the field of medicine, but I suspected that after not caring for himself for so long, Sherlock had gotten himself an infection in his back wounds and it was hence causing a great deal of pain for him. If it was really that painful, then that would explain his hysteria at being touched by Detective Inspector Lestrade. He had also suspected illness on Sherlock's part, had told me before we entered 221b. I was willing to believe the man, he'd been around my brother a lot more than I had been, though I had been watching him on monitors.

After I ensured that medical supplies could get to Sherlock, I set about finding a doctor. A very particular doctor, possibly the only one Sherlock would ever bother to listen to. Though, the trick was going to be getting him near my little brother without making him worse...

"Anthea, do we have Sherlock's medical file on hand?" I asked my assistant, who handed me the aforementioned file without even looking away from her Blackberry.

"I take it we're going to be finding John Watson." She commented as I opened the file, checking it was the shortened version, only with the listed injuries, not causes or anything else from Sherlock's past. He was angry enough with me interfering, if I gave John the full story, I was sure Sherlock would notice in seconds and have one of his infamous tantrums before John could even look at him.

"Yes, yes we are. He's the only one who can make Sherlock see any sense at all and can get him looking after himself." I answered, closing the file and setting it between us.

"Do you think he'll get him back to rights mentally too? Stop all those other symptoms?" Anthea asked, she was only paid to be my assistant, but she had come to care for Sherlock like a little brother too, despite the fact that she was actually a few years younger than him.

"Possibly. It remains to be seen if they can actually get along after their separation without arguing, which will only make my brother so much worse." I'd seen the texts they'd sent to one another; the replies had only worsened Sherlock's state of wellbeing. If John shouted at him to his face, I honestly dreaded to think what destructive thing Sherlock would come up with to deal with it. And if John attacked him again like he did at the restaurant, well, then I didn't care how much Sherlock loved the man, he wouldn't be getting anywhere near my brother ever again. It would be a lost cause.

"Back to the uncertainty from their first meeting then." Anthea commented, I nodded in agreement. From a month of their acquaintance, I was sure that John Watson was the making of Sherlock, now, he could either make him whole again, or making him worse than ever. I didn't like the uncertainty of it. But I couldn't do anything else but try with him, hoping that his previous relationship with Sherlock would come back and ground him in the here and now, not in memories of his time away.

Not ten minutes later we were outside the workplace of Doctor John Watson, a quaint little surgery, not very far away from Baker Street, but far enough away to avoid walking by the street on his way home. It was just coming to the usual time he left too, so he'd be out in a few minutes, no doubt we'd have trouble getting him in the car, but I had a plan.

Sure enough, John walked out of the surgery three minutes and ten seconds later, and he immediately spotting my car.

"Good evening Doctor Watson, care for a ride?" I asked pleasantly, sometimes pleasantry worked with the man, sometimes it did not.

"Whatever it is Mycroft, I don't care, I'm not going to see Sherlock. You can bully me all you like, it's _not_ happening." Apparently today was not a day for pleasantry.

"Oh I think it will be when you hear what I have to say." I made sure the warning tone was clear in my voice, making sure the man knew that I was not playing with him. Not this time.

"Don't think so, whatever Sherlock's gotten himself into, he can get himself back out again. He doesn't need me, and he certainly doesn't want me for anything else than to be his bloody servant and lab rat. So tell him from me that he can go fuck himself." John started to storm off down the road, the car followed, always keeping us in pace with him.

"Doctor Watson, I'm afraid that Sherlock does in fact need you and wants you home very much. He just doesn't know how to express it. Emotions are not his strong point as you know, but believe me when I say that he's in dire need of your help." I told him.

"Doubt that. If he needs to a doctor, go get one of those posh ones from your selection of minions, they'll do just fine with him. And don't give me the 'he only listens to you' spiel, he doesn't listen to me, he never has. He only pretends to listen to keep people in the palm of his hand; it's his way of manipulation. I'm sure whatever doctor you can find will be able to beat him into submission." Anthea winced slightly at John's mention of beatings, he didn't notice.

"Beating him into submission is exactly why we're here. That doesn't work on Sherlock, whereas the kinder touch will, which is where you come in." _That_ stopped John for a second.

"What the hell have you been doing to him?" John raised an eyebrow.

"Nothing, it's what he's experienced while he was away that is causing his current pain. I need you to treat him." I kept it vague.

"Right, can't get some other minion to do that for him?" John looked at me incredulously. Why did Sherlock like this man so much again? He wasn't exactly being intelligent right now, if he actually knew what my brother was like, he'd already have been in this car. Though, I had to admit it was his loyalty was keeping him talking to me, which was a bonus.

"Sherlock won't go near hospitals even if you paid him in the most mysterious puzzles, and also doesn't like strangers in his flat, why do you think I'm coming to you? You're the only one out of all the people he trusts to sort him out." I said, like it was a huge inconvenience to be going so out of my way for Sherlock. In a way it was, if he was less stubborn, less _himself,_ I could have carted him off to a hospital and got him sorted out days ago. But no, his sensory issues kept him far away from the place unless he had access to a morgue or a lab.  And doctors were another matter, distrust for them usually sent him into such a panicked rage he blurted every deduction about them and sent them out in tears.

"What's he need help with?" John didn't get in, but looked slightly more interested in helping.

"A suspected infection and help cleaning out some wounds. If you hate him so much, you'll be done within an hour, but I will expect you to see him a few more times to make sure he is healing up. After that I will not hold it against you to leave again and never return, if you wish." I explained, John gave in and got into the car. Mission almost accomplished.

"Fine, do I get a file or any background? Or equipment for that matter?" John did not look happy to be back in my car, but I doubted he would ever enjoy our little meetings.

"Yes, everything is being taken to Baker Street as we speak. If you require anything else you can text me and I will get it to you within twenty minutes." I handed him a file, reading his expressions as he read through. It was only the barest minimum of information, but it was enough to make all the residing anger on John's face to morph into concern.

"This is all on his back, and is about as old as... well, when he came back. Did I, I didn't hurt him did I?" John suddenly looked remorseful for his actions, good job too. No matter how angry he got, he didn't deserve to punch my little brother for his actions in saving his bloody life.

"I wouldn't know." I lied, no matter how much I wanted to make John _drown_ in guilt for his actions against my brother, I wasn't that cruel. Not at the moment, if he screwed up, well, that was another story.

"Oh... This is nasty, really nasty. What even happened to cause this?" John looked up from the file.

"That's classified." I answered, watching the painfully slow calculation going on in John's mind.

"Okay, okay, I'll help. But only because this has to be treated and I do not want to know what will come to me if I refuse. But I'm not saying this is me forgiving him. After I'm done treating him, I'm gone." John warned, like I suspected.

"Of course. But I'm warning you now, I'll be watching your exchange with my brother _closely,_ if you hurt him in any way, verbally or physically, or any other way you can think of, I'll make you wish you were never born. You are not to question him on what happened, what cases he's been on recently, anything about his time away. You can question whether he's been eating and sleeping, and whatever else you need to diagnose him. If you insult him in the process or make him feel worse for what he did, I'm cutting all contact and you'll be disappearing quicker than Sherlock jumped off that roof." John winced at the mention of the jump, "Do not even bother trying to ask him how he survived the fall, or why he did it. His behaviour is currently erratic and he's not well. Jokes are allowed, as is small talk. Whatever he does you are also not to give him indication that he's doing anything strange, got it?" I warned, John went pale.

"You don't give a guy much to work with there do you?" John whispered.

"No, I don't. You are on very thin ice with me currently Doctor Watson for your treatment of my brother; the only reasons why I am bothering with you is because Sherlock will only listen to you and has a deep connection with you. But I'm not against taking you away from him _permanently_ if you screw him up further." I hissed as we got to Baker Street, "Now get out and treat my brother like you would usually. Like a _friend,_ or if you can't manage that, a patient." I drove off the second he got out, not letting him say anything further.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments/kudos again. I've been beyond stressed this week (blame tutors for giving me a week to do their assignments, on top of other assignments, and normal weekly homework) and all the comments and kudos have brightened up each day so much!


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the all the kudos and comments, they still mean everything to me!  
> I'm not exactly happy with this chapter, especially the beginning, I would rewrite it but the damn uni assignments are getting in my way big time so I can't. Also Sherlock's thoughts may get slightly confusing, so I've tried to split each different thought thread into bold/italics etc so it's easier to read, though if it isn't, please tell me and possibly give me a suggestion on how to make it a bit more readable!  
> Also, apologies for what is probably very bad medical treatment, I'm only working off of what I've seen on Grey's Anatomy and such. Call it artistic licence!

28 Sherlock's POV

A car parked up outside the flat and drove off relatively quickly. I curled up further into my chair in response, knowing that it was one of Mycroft's cars dropping off whatever doctor he'd chosen to look after me, hopefully it was the one who patched me up when I got back, he'd been competent and while he had talked a bit, he wasn't judgemental. I'd had enough judgement for a life time.

The door opened and hesitant footsteps sounded on the stairs... Wait. Even with that hesitance, I recognised those heavy footsteps, that gait. It couldn't, _no;_ it couldn't be _John_ could it? Mycroft couldn't have gotten him here, no way had he gotten him here... _of course he hasn't, Mycroft has unimaginable power but he's never gotten John Watson to do anything, let alone talk to **you** when he's pissed at you. _But that was too similar to John's walk up the stairs, and it would explain the hesitancy. Who else could it be?!

I sat up in my chair in expectation, trying so very hard to not hope for John. Because despite the gait, it _couldn't_ be John, it just couldn't be. If it was, how the hell had Mycroft managed that? He hadn't told him what happened, had he? No, he was nosey and mean, but Mycroft wasn't _that_ nosey and mean. So who the hell was on my stairs?!

The door opened and _John_ walked in. Actual John, as in _my John Watson,_ he was right in front of me, in the flat. I could barely believe my eyes at the sight of him, carrying a box of what I guessed was medical supplies, looking nervously over at me. He hadn't slept much recently, had come straight from work in Mycroft's personal car, he was tense, taught like a bow string, he _really_ didn't want to be here.

"John." I found myself whispering, fearing to move in case it was the wrong move that sent him very far away from me again. I actually sat on my hands to stop them giving away my anxiety through stimming motions, John had never seen them, I had had control of them while he was here before. Now it felt like if I breathed wrong he was going to be out of this door and far away before I even had time to apologise for it.

"Sherlock, I er... Your brother sent me, because he says you have some wounds that need treating?" John explained, why was Mycroft sending John of all people over? Didn't he realise that when I said that John hated me, I _meant_ it?

"Of course, he said he was sending someone round." I nodded, what did I say right now? Words failed me, something that didn't happen often with John. _Probably because the last time you saw each other he was punching you in the face and he's told you to delete his number and never speak to him again. Probably best to keep quiet right now._

"Yeah, got me from work... God knows what the others thought at that." John sighed, radiating awkwardness as he put the box down in the kitchen. He glanced at me, and seemed to realise that I moved his chair, anger flashed in his eyes but he didn't say a thing, clenching a fist instead. _He's going to punch you again._ Not again, I was in enough pain as it was, not more pain _please._

"Come over here, and take off your shirt, I can't examine you from all the way over there." John switched to doctor mode, focusing his face to being as blank as possible, using that calming doctor tone he had with patients. _That's all you are right now. A patient. He's still pissed off at you, but he's focusing on doctoring you, because you're now his **job.**_

I slowly obeyed, biting back every single wince of pain as my entire back screamed at the movement as I took my shirt off. I didn't really want him to see what happened but I didn't have a choice. All I wanted was for this pain to stop and for John to be here, I had the chance of both right now. But at the same time, I didn't want to guilt John into staying here to look after me, didn't want the awkward questions to be asked about what happened. _This is a disaster waiting to happen._

"Sit down on the chair for me; it's just your back, right? No other issues anywhere else?"John pulled out an armless chair from the table, which I sat sideways on, hearing him hiss at whatever state my back was in.

"No, nothing anywhere else." I answered, not mentioning that I was currently hearing his voice inside my head constantly, or that I had freaked out twice at crime scenes recently.

"Jesus, why haven't you been to a doctor before about all of this? This is serious!" John hissed, gently touching the wounds with gloved fingers. Even that hurt, felt like fire touching me, more than when Lestrade touched me earlier. I bit back a scream.

"Couldn't reach behind me to sort it out myself." I shrugged the statement away, thinking it was the best explanation for not looking after myself.

"Well that wasn't the best thing you've ever done. All these wounds are now inflamed and certainly infected. I'm going to have clean these out, it's going to sting a _lot,_ so if there's ever been a time to go to your mind palace, this would be it." John started pulling out cleaning products, gloves and everything else he needed out of the box, fully into doctor mode.

I couldn't help but watch him as he did it, he was magnificent as he worked with the calm urgency of the best doctors, not panicking about the fact that this was happening in my kitchen, that he may not have all the right tools, there was no pain medication, or the fact that it was me he was treating. I didn't want to miss a second of this, wanted to enjoy seeing him again despite the circumstances and the clear tension in him as he worked around me. _Because he despises you right now, this isn't a forgiveness thing, he still hates you, probably always will. Enjoy his presence this once because he certainly isn't coming back after this._ I knew that, which was why I was staying in the real world, despite the pain I was in. This was possibly the last time I saw John Watson, I was making the most of him not shouting and beating me up.

"I'm also texting Mycroft for an IV of antibiotics; you're past the stage where pills are going to work. And you're incredibly lucky this hasn't really set in and gotten into your blood stream or starting decaying the skin around the wounds." John spoke again; oh I missed that calm certainty he always had. I missed _him_ so much, just to have him here in any capacity. For the first time, I felt like I was in good hands and totally safe, John's presence making everything feel so much like normal life instead of this place I'd landed myself in. I almost wanted to reach out and touch him, pull him close and never, ever let him leave. _That's a bit not good. Best not do that and scare him off faster._ Yeah, best not.

"I'm going to start cleaning this now, but if it ever gets too much, tell me and I'll stop for a bit alright? This is urgent but I don't mind waiting a few minutes for you to catch your breath, and if you could try to not move too much it would be rather helpful too. I'm afraid there are no numbing or pain relief injections around at the moment so I think your mind palace is your best shot of getting through this pain." John warned, I didn't say anything, figuring it would make it seem like I'd disappeared into the mind palace.

The first touch of John's cleaning solution soaked cloth felt like I was being flayed alive, it took _everything_ I had to not scream out in pure agony. I could do this, I could do this, breathe, just breathe in and out. Periodic table elements. **Hydrogen Helium Lithium**. Another swipe with the cloth, more excruciating agony. **Beryllium Manganese**. More fire, more pain, _so much pain._

_The blow torch lit up behind me, the heat being felt from its distance from me._ Iron Cobalt Nickel. _The fire grew nearer and nearer until it pressed against my shoulder, I screamed in pain, feeling the skin melt._ Redbeard, I needed Redbeard and the Periodic table! **Oxygen Flourine Neon**. _"Tell us your reasons to be here."_ Another swipe from the cloth. **Redbeard playing fetch in the garden**. **Sodium Magnesium**. Water being squeezed out of the cloth. _Drowning, couldn't breathe! Water everywhere, couldn't move, and couldn’t breathe! I was going to die!_ **Redbeard curling up by the fire and letting me rest my head on his side.** **Aluminium**. _"You broke in for a reason! Tell us why! Were you trying to kill us?!"_ Yet another swipe of the cloth, it took everything not to move a muscle or burst into tears. It hurt so much, everything hurt so much!

Couldn't John talk through this? Couldn't he just please talk to me in that calm doctor voice of his? Tell me about his day in the surgery, about the last time he saw Lestrade, something mundane like the TV show he watched last night, _anything?!_ Why couldn't he talk to me to ease this pain, ground me in this for a few minutes so it didn't hurt and I wasn't thinking?! All he did was continue to wipe at my back with a wet cloth, causing fire filled agony dart up and down my entire being as I clutched to the table so hard my knuckles were white to stop from crying out. Redbeard wasn't enough, chemistry wasn't enough, I needed John!

"Nearly over, nearly finished washing this all up, then it's just bandages and an IV." John whispered, oh thank God. It would be over soon. But it didn't feel like it would be, it felt like an eternity of painful wipes and flashbacking memories. I had to remain still though, continue to remain calm, _don't cry, don't flashback. Do not cry or flashback or anything. Be quiet and stop making this so hard for John to do his damn job._

**Silicon. Redbeard licking my face. Phos**... _yanked up by overgrown hair, able to breathe for blessed seconds._ **pho...** _shoved straight back into the water before even catching my breath again_ **rous**. **Redbeard once ate Mycroft's homework, he went bright red in anger, his breaking voice squeaking in anger.** Another touch of the cloth. **Redbeard's fur, Redbeard's bark, Redbeard, Redbeard, Redbeard Redbeard RedbeardRedbeardRedbeard REDBEARD.**

I had to cry out at the last swipe over a scar of the blowtorch, the one Lestrade had touched earlier. It felt like the worst agony in the world, the absolute worst agony I'd ever felt, I couldn't, it wasn't... _it was worse than the blowtorch and whipping and water boarding combined._

"Over, it's over now Sherlock. Just need to put on some bandages okay? A few more minutes and it's completely over." John told me, not laying a finger on my anywhere as he said it, wasn't even looking at me either. _Can't stand the see the sight of you being so pathetic. It's an infected wound, get the hell over it, John was **shot** and probably didn't complain this much! _I buried myself into the table further, willing myself to behave when all I wanted to do was cry out and beg for it to be done with, for it all to go away and for John to just talk to me like I was a normal human being again. Not the doctor voice, nothing like that, just John being _John._

But he worked in silence instead, bandaging me up without a word until it was over. "I'm getting the IV, I heard it being delivered." He whispered, running downstairs and back up again. I shivered at the sight of it, I _hated_ IVs. For someone who injected cocaine into themselves for years, IVs were a different story, I hated them with a passion, feeling the prolonged pushing of medication into my veins with an uncomfortable needle stuck into my arm/hand without the pleasure of a high joining it wasn't pleasant. But I didn't object, didn't even say anything John put it into my hand and starting the run of antibiotics into my body, I'd already made a show of myself, I wasn't about to make it worse.


	30. Chapter 30

29 John's POV

Sherlock was quiet as I worked, barely even flinching as I stuck the IV into the back of his hand, probably so far into his mind palace he didn't even know what was happening. I sighed in a bit of relief at the idea, I wasn't sure if I could actually talk to Sherlock right now. Not just because of Mycroft's warnings, but because it was _him,_ with his silky voice and clever words that reeled me into his insane world and made me forget all about how rude and ignorant he was to others feelings. Perhaps it was for the best that he was in his mind palace, so we didn't have to be polite to each other, didn't have to talk about anything.

Though, the poor sod did look like he'd been through the wringer, more so than usual. He'd put on a few pounds since I'd last seen him, but he was still a long thin strip of nothing that could easily disappear when he turned sideways. But his skin was still deathly pale as he shivered in his seat. The pale sickliness of his skin and his shaking I put down to pain from his injuries, which were severe. When Mycroft had shown me the file I'd known that they were bad, but this was worse than I imagined. Scars were littering his back and sides, open wounds all over the once almost marble cut skin, inflamed and angry with infection, which I was treating him for. He must have been in agony for days with it, but obviously the twat hadn't gotten help because he was too proud to admit to it.

Though, I found I couldn't really hold it against him, not really. Who exactly could he have told? _Mycroft?_ Yeah, like Sherlock would ever ask his omnipresent brother for help. Lestrade and Mrs Hudson would have been of no use to him with this... Molly? No, she may have worked with the dead, but I remember her saying once that she'd have never survived with real patients; too worried about causing them pain to treat them.

And here I was again sympathising with Sherlock! Damn it the man had made me believe he was dead for two years! He _deserved_ this... No, no he didn't. Nobody deserved this amount of pain and whatever had happened to cause these wounds in the first place (they looked like whip marks, but no, that couldn’t be right. Who would _whip_ Sherlock? Who could possibly manage to keep him still long enough to _whip_ him? Probably more of a knife fight, yeah, knife fight or something. Though that scar was a bit ominous on his shoulder...), no matter what they'd done. That I could admit, only to myself mind. It didn't stop me being very, very pissed off at him though, his actions were still uncalled for and I was nowhere near forgiving him for his death stunt and experiment. And I was _not_ coming back to him.

Well, after this infection cleared up anyway, I wanted to keep an eye on it for a few days, make sure that the wounds were closed up and were healing properly. I'd started this job, I wasn't going to leave it, and not when Sherlock was a reckless as he was. So I had to come round for a few days, I hoped they were all like this, with him barely even reacting as I treated him.

"I'm going to have to stay for a few hours, make sure that IV gets used up... and get some food in you, you look half starved." Some other care wouldn't go amiss with him too. Bodies needed to be healthy to heal, being as emaciated as Sherlock currently was he barely had a hope in hell of getting healed up again.

In answer, Sherlock just nodded, wincing at something a second later. I schooled any reaction from that, remembering Mycroft's warning. I wouldn't mind the cutting contact bit, but I doubted that I'd enjoy Mycroft's method of cutting me out of Sherlock's life; it probably involved guns, or misplaced paperwork that got me exiled from the country for life.

So I started pottering around the flat again, finding that there was actual food in the fridge. Mrs Hudson must have gone shopping recently in a bid to get Sherlock eating, like _that_ would help. The man was stubborn as a mule; he probably would refuse just to be pedantic. Sometimes I really did wonder how I put up with him before, my best guess was that I got sucked into his world and got caught up with crimes and criminal chasing and Moriarty that I had ignored the less desirable parts of Sherlock. I'd kept on making excuses for his behaviour, 'oh he didn't mean it, he's on a case' 'he just hasn't learnt manners' all of that, all the time. But that fall, that _damn_ fall had broken that, made me realise that Sherlock was just a manipulative sociopath who would do anything to not be bored and didn't care about the people who cared about him in the face of science. And no matter how quiet he was now would make me change my mind.

But he was rather quiet; somehow, I knew he was actually in the room with me at the moment. He didn't look like he was lost in the mind palace; he seemed more _with_ it, but not _himself._ This infection had really gotten to him, hadn't it? Unless he was dealing with more than the infection, _nah,_ this was _Sherlock_ I was on about. He was fine apart from the infection, probably just in a bit of pain. I did want to reach out and ask him, but figured it would only be answered with a scathing retort, and while I would have _loved_ another argument over his actions, I figured it would be a bit not good for the time being.

Instead, I turned away from him and made us some toast, putting the plate in front of him and watching him hesitate for a second. But then he grabbed the slice and wolfed it down, his stomach making a loud growling sound. I set about microwaving a meal from the fridge and giving it to him, figuring that a bit of appetite couldn't be a bad thing, again watching him wolf it down like it was the first meal he'd seen in days. Now that I knew to be untrue, Mrs Hudson was probably cooking him a tonne of food every day and making sure he ate it to build up his weight again.

But then, an awkward silence fell over us, as neither of us had food keeping us occupied. Now it was just the two of us, sitting at the kitchen table in silence. Three years ago that wouldn't have been too bad, but right now it was slightly suffocating. What could we even _talk_ about right now? I still felt such intense anger at him for his actions, but I couldn't shout at a wounded man fighting off an infection without fearing his powerful older brother being highly unpleasant to me. And I didn't particularly want to talk to him either; I could when talking him through what I was doing to treat him, but now that I'd done that. There wasn't anything we could talk about either, not that wouldn't start an argument or 'emotionally hurt' Sherlock, whatever _that_ meant. I still doubted that he could be emotionally hurt, or even care that I was upset. He'd moved my chair to start with, almost like I'd never lived here.

"Mrs Hudson will probably come and check on me soon, you can leave if you want." Sherlock suddenly whispered, making me jump.

"Huh?" He'd been so quiet, I'd barely heard him.

"Mrs Hudson will probably come up for a chat soon, she can sort out the IV, so you don't have to wait here with me if you don't want to. She can handle it." Sherlock repeated, playing with his fingers, lifting them in different patterns that only he seemed to know.

"You sure?" I asked, it's not that I didn't trust the woman, it was just... I preferred to sort it out myself.

"Yes, it's fine. You're very uncomfortable being back here, you're only here because of my brother. Mrs Hudson can sort out an IV tonight." Sherlock nodded, so I gave in. Being back here, it was strange and not in a good way. I was permanently fighting down anger and shouting at Sherlock for his actions, I could tell that Sherlock knew that too, maybe that was why he couldn't deem to look at me.

"Okay, make sure that she does take it out and disposes of it well, but only once it's all empty, alright? Now I'll be back tomorrow to give everything a look over, clean and rebandage it all up so try and be in, I'm not waiting around here again like a maid." Even I winced at how harsh that sounded, Mycroft was definitely going to behead me for that.

"I-I'll come by the surgery if that's better. 221b makes you uncomfortable; the surgery will be more sanitary at the least." Sherlock shook his head, still not looking at me, instead somewhere near my shoes.

"No, I'll come here. The surgery won't appreciate random people not on their books turning up. So I'll come back here... and bring some food, you do look half starved." I turned to pick up my coat.

"John." I paused and turned round, "T-Thanks... for coming. It was pleasant to see you again, under the circumstances, especially when you didn't want to." Sherlock told me, was that his way of being civil and trying to win me back? Or was it actual sincerity?

"Nice try at being civil. Maybe one day I'll believe it." Had to be trying to win me back, he'd never thanked me before in his life unless he wanted something, this was _not_ an exception.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for the comments/kudos, it really does mean so much to me!


	31. Chapter 31

30 Sherlock's POV     

The door closed behind John and I didn't move, spending just a few minutes trying to not think of that last comment. _Of course John thinks that that was just an act, you've never been nice to him in his life._ But I'd said thank you, and I'd been nice at other times. Or at least tried to be. _Curing the psychosomatic limp doesn't count, you just showed him danger and adrenaline, which is what John needs to be happy. At most you were a catalyst._ But I'd tried... _You really didn't._

"Oh John, I didn't know you were upstairs! Been talking to Sherlock?" Mrs Hudson's voice came up the stairs.

"Been giving him some medical treatment as he's a bit under the weather at the moment, how have you been recently?" John answered, in a much happier tone than he used with me. _Because he actually likes Mrs Hudson because she is **nice** to him. _

"Oh nothing new, hip still playing up and all that, nothing special. I've mostly been looking after Sherlock actually; poor boy’s been through a lot recently and needs the help." Mrs Hudson replied, was she _trying_ to anger John?! He didn't want to talk about me, very clearly did not want to talk about me! Why was she even doing that?!

"Sure he's been," the eye roll could almost be heard, "Look I've got to go, but I'll be back tomorrow to make sure he's not jogged anything. Could you possibly keep an eye on him for the evening? Just to make sure he's not picking at anything, it would be a great help." John asked, probably giving her a sweet smile, the one that won _everybody_ over.

"Of course I will, someone has to or he'll cause all sorts of mischief." _They don't trust you to look after yourself; they see you as a helpless sociopathic child._ I sighed at the thought, feeling my stomach impossibly drop through the floor from their words.

"Thanks Mrs Hudson, you're a life saver." John probably smiled again, giving his old land lady a hug.

"It's not a problem John, and it's good to see you here again, Sherlock has missed you a lot you know. I'm glad you're back on speaking terms." Oh she had no clue did she? This was not speaking terms, this was... This was doctor/patient meetings that would last until I was deemed healthy and then nothing ever again. I couldn't even describe how much the idea of that hurt.

"Er, we're not really on speaking terms I'm afraid. Sherlock... Mycroft called me in to oversee treating a few things because I'm apparently the only one Sherlock listens to. That's the only reason why I'm here, to sort him out, and then I'm off again. I've gained a life outside of him now, and after the stunt he pulled, I can't forgive him. I really just cannot forgive him for what he did. So I'm just doing what Mycroft wants and then I'm gone, I'm sorry about that, but I just can't go back to him again. Not after everything he's done." John explained, I hadn't meant for this to happen though! I didn't have any other choice in this! If I'd had a choice, _any_ choice that avoided getting everybody shot I would have done it! But there'd been _nothing_!

"I understand dear, what he did was downright cruel, it's how he's always been. But he's trying now, has been very helpful with me these past few weeks, you should give him a chance. He's so quiet now, and while it's nice to not be disturbed by explosions and such, he's getting isolated again. It doesn't do him any good to be stuck up there by himself like he's been locked away like some criminal." Mrs Hudson sounded so disapproving; I didn't even know what she was disapproving of. _Probably you being stuck up here again. When criminals like you should be in prison where they belong._ I did it all out of self defence! _Sure you did, just keep on pretending you didn't enjoy it._ I didn't!

"Who's he arguing with?" John asked after a pause... I hadn't just spoken out loud did I?

"Oh probably that brother of his, or his skull. He's always talking to it like that, has done for years actually. I think he thinks of it as a friend... see what I mean by isolation?" Mrs Hudson said as I picked at the IV sticking in my hand, the entire limb feeling impossibly colder than the rest of me.

"Well if he tried to be civil and didn't fake his death he might actually still have a flat mate... But anyway, I've got to go; I've got a long shift at the surgery tomorrow." John left, the front door closing with a bang.

Without even realising it, I'd started crying, the past two hours catching up to me in a minute. I hadn't... I'd tried my best to be polite today, hadn't caused a fuss because of the pain, or the IV. I'd thanked John for coming and offered to make this whole thing easier on him, what else could I have done? Apologising for the fall and everything could have made John even more reluctant to come over and help me out, talking about any of it could have. So I'd been quiet and just done as asked, what more could I do?

And Mrs Hudson thought I was always cruel? But, I had made a conscious effort to be nicer to her than everybody else... _still not enough, you still shouted at her, scared her sometimes._ I also protected her from those Americans, and her husband, _you sorted out her husband because she was a client, and the Americans wouldn't have touched her if she hadn't been involved with you._ I had tried though! I had honestly tried to be nice! Why was it never understood that I was _trying_?! _Because trying is never enough with you, you're still an evil, psychopathic bastard. Nothing will ever change that, no matter how many crimes you solve, how quiet you are or how much money you pay people. You can't buy friendship or love or respect. You have to earn it, and that ship has sailed for you._

I didn't want it to have sailed! I didn't want this! I didn't want _any_ of this! I wanted my life back, all the crime solving, the allusion of having friends, no more flashbacks, and no more voice in my head, not all this pain! This hadn't been the plan! The plan had been to take down Moriarty's network and return unfazed, everything like normal again! Why couldn't it all be normal?! I wanted normal!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments again, positive and negative, I'm open to all comments you have on this fic. It's a learning curve and I'm learning all the time with this, taking everything on board and learning from mistakes for future fics!


	32. Chapter 32

31 Sherlock's POV

I curled up in my bed for the rest of the evening, just wanting to hide away from humanity for as long as I could manage. I was exhausted after such a long and painful day, filled with pain and emotional stress and _too many people._ Just so many people, police officers, Lestrade, Mycroft, _John._ Trying to keep everything inside and spectacularly failing had knocked every bit of energy out of me, and then hearing John and Mrs Hudson's conversation, it just... Words couldn't describe how much that hurt.

Tears leaked from my eyes pathetically as the day swirled through my head without mercy. I was trying my best to be normal, pretend I wasn't affected by all this, not letting crime scenes get to me, not have flashbacks, be as respectful as possible as I could to John as he worked. But again none of it worked, I'd just made everybody worry stupidly, made them all think I was incompetent. If I carried this on there was no doubt that Mycroft would chuck me into some rehab facility again and throw away the key, saying that I wasn't capable with dealing with the world anymore and that I wasn't going to be let out. He'd threatened to do it enough times over the years, had actually chucked me into rehab several times too.

_Of course he has, you **can't** handle the world. You can't talk to people properly, can't look after yourself, and put others in danger on a regular basis. Now you can't even do your supposed job without freaking out, or have a civil few hours with John without screwing it up. _I'd tried; I'd tried so hard, why couldn't they understand that I was trying?! _Because your version of trying isn't good enough._

"Yoo-hoo Sherlock! It's me, John asked me to check up on you!" Mrs Hudson called out. I immediately stifled my cries and pretended to be asleep so she'd leave. I'd sorted out the IV once it was finished long ago, having watched it empty so I could rip it out as soon as possible. She didn't need to be here looking after me, I was perfectly capable of looking after myself, of being a _good, independent_ tenant.

"Sherlock? Are you in? I didn't hear you leave!" Mrs Hudson called again, her footsteps stopping outside my closed door, "Well this is never closed. Must be asleep, took long enough." She mused, the door creaking open. "Poor love, all alone again." She sighed as she pulled the sheet over my shoulder; I prayed she didn't notice I was still awake and painfully aware of the tone she was using. _She pities you, you can't even look after yourself and make messes of every relationship you've ever had. Even **she** thinks you're cruel and heartless and she was married to a leader of a drug cartel who **beheaded** people. _

Mrs Hudson left soon after, closing the door behind her and departing to her own flat. 221B fell into a painful silence, a pin could be heard dropping, there wasn't a single sound coming from the flat. The silence was somehow worse than overhearing conversations from others about me, at least when there were conversations downstairs, I knew that there were people around, and I wasn't completely alone. But in the silent flat, it was easy to convince myself that was completely alone in the world, that I was literally the only person here. _Been exiled for being a murderous psychopath, sent away to keep everybody else safe. Or exiled back to one of those cells, only the chains clinking in the silence, waiting for the sound of boots on concrete, the sure sign of more torture to pull through in mere minutes._

No, I was _not_ thinking about that right now, I really was not going to think of it. I was not alone, I really wasn't. Mrs Hudson was just downstairs; she'd just been in here. I was in London too, there were people everywhere, it was just quiet. That was all. The flat was always quiet now anyway. It was always quiet because I was the only one here, I was not in a cell in Serbia awaiting more torture, and I was not exiled for being a murderous psychopath, because I was _not_ a murderous psychopath. It was all in self defence, I hadn't enjoyed it one bit, I'd done it because it had needed to be done. _If that's what gets you to sleep at night._ Well it wasn't because I was still WIDE AWAKE.

I felt like screaming, when was the last time I'd actually felt safe enough to sleep? Or hadn't felt back in the glass case I'd existed in my whole life? Must have been before I fell off St Bart's, back when I had relationships with people I could pretend were friendships, could do my damn job without having flashbacks, could _shower_ without having a panic attack. I would have done anything, literally _anything_ to go back to that time, before the two years away, living on the sidelines of society, fighting for my life on a daily basis. I'd had everything I'd ever wanted then, crimes to solve, colleagues who were nice to me on occasion, freedom to do what I wanted, _John._ Most of all, I'd had John.

John who'd accepted me for who I was, put up with the experiments and the 3am violin playing, he talked to me like I wasn't a crime solving machine, without the awkwardness of Molly. He'd come along to crime scenes and laughed with me, made me feel _normal_ for the first time in twenty-odd years. It wasn't until he was gone that I'd realised just how much he'd changed my life, I hadn't realised just how much I'd wanted a friend until I'd had him with me and I'd lost him. And now lying in the flat, after hearing him basically saying he couldn't even stand to be around me anymore had hurt more than I'd ever expected. _He'd only stayed for the danger, he didn't actually like **you** , he only liked the danger and adrenaline of cases. _

I knew that, of course I knew that. But he'd _stayed,_ and he had at least treated me like I was a bit more than a crime solving machine, that had meant more than anything. And now I'd screwed it up royally, by to lying him for two years, keeping him out of the loop of what I was doing. I'd broken whatever bond we'd had, _it's called Stockholm Syndrome._ I had _not_ done that to him! I swore, I'd _never_ done that to him! I'd never forced him into staying, never forced him into cases, he'd been here through his own admission! For God's sake, why did everyone have to think that I'd done that to him?! _Because you're a psychopathic freak, that's why._ High functioning sociopath. I was a high functioning sociopath. _No you're not. That's not what the doctors said._ Well they didn't say psychopathic freak either, well, not after I'd gotten the definitive diagnosis.

_Doesn't make you any less of a freak and a failure of a human being. That's why you can't have friends; you're not **built** for friends. You're built for crime solving and murder. _I wished I wasn't, I really wished I wasn't. What wouldn't I have done for the chance to prove that I could be a human being capable of friends.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments/kudos have all been brilliant again, thank you. I am taking on board all constructive criticism, and while it may be slightly too late to change this fic as it's all mostly planned, I'll be keeping everything you've all said in mind for any future things, so thanks for that! Also if there's anything in this you think I need to put a trigger warning on, or need to put in the tags, please tell me, I'm getting slightly paranoid that I've missed something important and don't want to upset anybody with anything. So if there is something I need to tag, please tell me!


	33. Chapter 33

32 John's POV

“Sherlock doing okay?” Lestrade asked over a pint.

“Yes. He’s just _dandy_ right now.” I said through gritted teeth, I may have called this pub night, but that didn’t mean I wanted to talk about Sherlock. Well... I _did,_ but I didn’t. I wanted to compare his behaviour with me to everybody else, get a better idea of his state in case there was something else I needed to treat. Obviously, I couldn’t ask him because he’d probably lie to me like usual, and if I asked him Mycroft would probably kill me. He had such a tight leash on me it felt like I couldn’t breathe right in case he deemed it wrong.

But I had to ask someone about Sherlock's behaviour, because it was admittedly weird. He was always weird though. But this was _weird for Sherlock,_ and while I hadn’t lived with him for two years, I remember his weirdness. This was not his normal weirdness. I wasn’t worried though, course not. Just... _concerned._ Doctor/patient care and all that.

“Talking your ear off, is he?” Lestrade smirked, chuckling a little.

“No. More like silent. He doesn’t talk unless I ask him a question.” I got an apprehensive look for that.

“Crap. I hoped having you back may have given him back a bit of his confidence, I guess not.” Lestrade sighed, what?

“Gain back his confidence? What the hell?” What didn’t I know?!

“He’s been quiet since he got back, two weeks ago. Hasn’t really been himself at all, even at a crime scene. Kinda reminds me of the kid I met years ago, when he first got off the drugs,” Lestrade explained.

“Great, so he’s back on drugs? That explains a lot.” I was _not_ sitting through a drug withdrawl with him, if Sherlock wanted to ruin his mind with drugs, he could do as he wished. I wasn’t helping him get through that, I came to treat back wounds, nothing more.

“No, no, he’s not on drugs again! Mycroft’s already sworn against it, got guards on him and everything to make sure he doesn’t score! Sherlock’s clean. This is just him at the moment. Quiet, withdrawn, just not himself.” Lestrade explained, _right._ This did not sound like Sherlock at all. This sounded like another one of his tricks.

“This sounds like a trick, one of his bloody manipulation tricks against us so we feel sorry for him and forgive him quicker.” I took a big gulp of my beer, feeling like I needed a drink to deal with this. If this was another one of Sherlock’s manipulations to get everybody on his side, doing the things he wanted them to do, I was going to _murder_ him myself.  He was a damn sociopath, but he could have been just a _little_ bit more considerate to the people who called him a friend, even though he didn’t deem them a needed thing.

“I don’t think it is you know. He was pretty damn beat up last time I saw him, Mycroft actually got out of the office to see him, and that’s when you _know_ it’s serious.” Lestrade replied, “Anyway, I don’t think he would manage to act like this just to gain our forgiveness. I do think he’s actually ill.”

“I wish I had your faith. But I can’t, I just _can’t_ see that. I mean, he jumped off a roof, made us all think he was dead for two years. Who does that? Who honestly does that to the people who love them? It’s just... it’s just right Greg, it’s really not right.” I shook my head, sure of it. If Sherlock really was sorry, he’d be apologising, instead of playing the I’m-ill-forgive-me-because-I’m-quiet card.

“John, why are you so angry? He’s not... he’s not okay. You’re usually so sympathetic with him, what changed?” Lestrade made me raise my eyebrows.

“You know _exactly_ what changed Greg. He played hide and seek for two years, made us think terrible things, simply because he could. He’s a manipulative sociopath, and he damn well knows that we’ll do anything for him if he spins it right.” I glared, how wasn’t _he_ getting this?! This was _Sherlock,_ Lestrade had seen him do the most terrible things to get answers. This was just the same, and instead of victims and murders he was manipulating, it was _us._

“And I still forgave him. Just talk to him John, he is genuinely sorry, I can tell. He’s just not good with words, let him talk, it’ll become clear soon.” Lestrade advised, I shook my head.

“I can’t Greg, I can’t go back. It’s... Sherlock won’t explain a thing, not the true reason for why he jumped. He won’t ever tell us the real reason, because he _knows_ he did wrong, and he doesn’t want to have us leave him. You know how manipulative he is, he’ll just do it again this time too.” I sighed, I really could not go back to that again. It wasn’t... It just wasn’t good anymore.

“How’d you mean?” Lestrade asked, leaning forward.

“You know how he is. He comes sweeping in, with that _deep_ voice and the stupid coat with the collar up so he looks mysterious and he draws you in. He spins his stories and you listen because he’s so enchanting. You listen and you start to believe that it’s all fun and games, that he’s not getting into your head, that he’s not manipulating you, but he _is._ He’s lying and bending you to his will, making you think his _insanity_ and his adventures are attractive and fascinating, that they’re not going to get you killed one day, that you’re an army vet with a bum leg who got shot. All of it. And then he makes you think that it’s all completely your idea in the first place. And I _can’t_ go back to that, can’t let him talk again. If I do, I’ll be sucked in again, and I’ll take him back. And I _can’t._ Not after everything he’s done to me, to _us._ We’re not his play things, I’m not going to be manipulated like that again. I’m going to be my own person, not Sherlock Holmes’ play thing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for the comments/kudos! They're getting me through the next round of uni assignments I've been given (4 to do by January 6th, critiquing my own work in terms of grammar and such - eeep!)


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick warning, there's a panic attack in this chapter, so if anybody feels like they may be triggered by a panic attack, you possibly want to skip this chapter.  
> If there's any triggers you feel might come up in this fic, please let me know so I can put warnings up on the chapters that they occur in!

33 Sherlock's POV

Over the course of two weeks, John came over every day to check up on my health, changing over bandages and such things that needed doing. And, as promised, he brought dinner for us both to eat too. None of it was ever home cooked, simple take away Chinese and Indian, sometimes Thai, and once pizza. But every visit was still as awkward as the first. The entire visit was spent in silence, the only times we spoke was when John needed to ask me a question, which was rare. He still knew my sleeping and eating habits, and since I rarely reacted to him touching my now healing wounds, he didn't really ask me if I was in pain or not.

So every visit was mostly silent, as I wasn't about to start talking and making the whole thing even more awkward than it already was. I knew all of John's feelings towards me, knew he wasn't ever going to forgive me, and he was also clearly not in the mood for explanations for faked deaths. Small talk was something I had never been good at either, so I resolved to keep quiet and pray that it would somehow prove to John that I was trying to change for him, or at least that I wasn't actually going to force him into staying here with me.

"Right, well you've healed up as nicely as possible, the infection is gone, and you've put on a few more pounds, so I guess my work here is done." _What?!_ No! God no, not yet! John couldn't be done with me already! _Of course he is. You've healed, no open wounds, no bandages, and no infection. No need for a doctor._

"Oh, okay." I refused to start begging him to stay here with me, no matter how badly I wanted to. I wasn't going to force John to stay here, confirm all those psychopath rumours. I was just... I was going to let him go, be the better, kinder person.

"Yeah, I'm gunna go then... Try and look after yourself from now on, Greg needs you and Mrs Hudson will throw a fit if you don't actually look after yourself. So try to eat and sleep, and not put yourself in grave danger every other day." John sighed, _yeah, Lestrade needs you to solve his crimes, Mrs Hudson just doesn't want to deal with a dead body in her flat._

"I'll try." I whispered, not even looking up at John, my best friend John, turning to leave 221b Baker Street for the last time.

"Good." John turned to grab his coat.

"I-It was nice seeing you again." I blurted out before I could stop myself, damn it _why_ did I let that out?! I was trying to not appear to be a manipulated bastard and _that_ could be taken as manipulative words!

"Uh-huh." John barely answered as he pulled on his coat. _He's leaving! He's leaving and he isn't coming back!_ I wanted him to stay, what could I possibly do to make him reconsider not staying, or at least visiting on occasion?!

"G-Goodbye John." That was polite wasn't it? That was the polite thing to say when someone left, I'd always been told that, would it help John to believe that I could be at least civil?! That I was trying to be better, that I'd changed from my time away?!

John winced, visibly. _You said that before you fell off the roof you idiot!_ I hadn’t meant to remind him of that!

"Goodbye Sherlock." There was a pause, I looked up to see John open his mouth to say something else, but then he shook his head and left, thumping down the stairs rapidly, like he couldn't wait to get out of here.

And as the front door closed, the flat went back to its maddening silence again. Only the sound of cars outside the window breaking that silence reverberating around the flat. I was alone, so painfully alone again. The feeling pressed down on me from all sides, the signs of my isolation from society screaming back at me everywhere I turned. The one armchair in the front room, dirty plates made by one person, only _my_ things dotted haphazardly around the room, in _every_ room. It all screamed isolation, more isolation than ever before.

I hadn't even been this isolated in _Serbia,_ even then, while I was chained to the damn walls there was a guard outside! The guards had changed regularly and I'd taken comfort in hearing their varying breathing patterns, their shifts in position, and the little sounds of knowing _human_ life was outside the door.

But right now, I was the only person in 221b. Mrs Hudson was currently downstairs, but she only ever came up when she thought I'd been quiet for too long, or if asked to by John. Lestrade would text ahead if he needed me, which he currently didn't because I was still on 'sick leave.' Mycroft just _arrived,_ yet he also probably wasn't going to turn up as there was no reason to turn up right now. There was practically no chance of any human interaction for _hours._ How did I stand this when I was younger?! How did I honestly stand this feeling of loneliness, the feeling that I was the only person in the entire world?! Hell, how did I survive this crushing feeling while on the run?!

_Easy, you were fighting for your life and had to be on constant look out. Right now you're just completely alone, nobody to talk to, practically no chance of a visit from anybody. There is no life to fight for, nothing to be on the lookout for. Now it's just going back to normal life, where it feels normal, but it's a shell, an echo of what life was. The people are the same, but there's the undercurrent of hatred there now, and **you** know that they hate you for what you did. That you're just a machine to them, and who wants to visit the psychopathic machine unless they need it's help? Nobody, that's who. _

NO! I didn't want to be alone anymore! It was crushing! It was, I couldn't, I couldn't breathe. The room was caving in, everything getting closer and closer, squeezing the air out of the room. The silence was pounding through my ears, my ribcage contracting further and further every time I looked at the emptiness of my home. There was nothing, there was no-one.

I didn't even feel human anymore, I _wasn't_ human anymore. Just a crime solving machine, just a machine, nothing more than that to anybody.

_"Freak!"_

_"You're a psychopath!"_

_"You machine!"_

_"Heartless bastard!"_

_"I feel like screaming when you walk into a room."_

_"What he did was downright cruel."_

The words of my friends and enemies screamed through my head, getting louder and louder and _louder_ until it was deafening. My vision blurred as I tried to force myself to breathe, but nothing was coming in or out! I couldn't breathe, I couldn't... It was just so _loud_ and _lonely,_ I couldn't take it again. Not again. I couldn't lose everybody again!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you for all the kudos and comments, they're all being taken on board and even if it doesn't seem like it, I am changing things round as much as I can with this fic, and will remember these comments in future when writing others!  
> Also, I just want to clear up that John is supposed to be an asshole in this, that the previous chapter, or any of his explanations to his anger, are not meant to be showing him in a positive light. He is supposed to be a complete asshole in this, and I'm quite glad that you guys are mostly liking that! :D


	35. Chapter 35

34 Mycroft's POV

I watched my brother have a panic attack in the middle of his front room, poised to call in the agents outside. They were ready for whatever I needed from them, including knocking my brother out again so he calmed down. But it wasn't necessary; he managed to calm himself eventually before curling up on his sofa in exhaustion. Though he didn't sleep, his breathing pattern was all wrong for sleep. Instead he just laid there and faced the back of the sofa like so many times before, not sleeping, and not even sulking. He was giving off an air of defeat, and was he _crying_ again?

Yes, yes he was. Sherlock was _crying,_ like he had done after John's first departure from the flat. He couldn't be feeling that much emotion after John's leaving could he? He had known this was coming eventually. Neither had enjoyed the visits much as it was, even after I had sent a warning text to John about keeping his feelings buried _deep_ while in the vicinity of Baker Street, to protect Sherlock’s fragile feelings. John had managed to keep his trap shut for the rest of his time at Baker Street, though I was still _very_ tempted to have a nice little _chat_ in a nice dungeon somewhere to stop the rest of his undesirable behaviour. I only resisted as I knew that Sherlock would not be forgiving me for it, and while we were rather estranged from each other, I wasn’t going to push him further away.

 But why would Sherlock possibly be crying? He couldn't be lonely... Had he had a panic attack and started crying over _loneliness?_

That did make a bit of sense actually; Sherlock had always been attracted to social interaction, trying hard to have conversations with others throughout his childhood until he'd learnt that other children were not like us. I'd thought he'd learnt to accept this and had shut off the need for companionship; maybe for once I'd been wrong...

"Anthea, send all correspondence to my phone, I'm needed somewhere else." I told my assistant, standing up and pulling on my jacket.

"Sherlock again Sir?" Anthea asked, typing on her Blackberry at normal speed, though clearly rerouting everything needed to my phone for the day.

"Yes, Sherlock again." I sighed; slightly annoyed that Sherlock was being like this. I almost _pitied_ the boy for his current existence.

Then again, I'd nearly pitied him for most of his life. Sherlock had always been rather brilliant by my standards, yet had never had anybody to share it with. I'd never had time for him when I was younger; Redbeard couldn't understand a word he was saying or talk back, no matter how badly Sherlock insisted on the fact that he could.

Our parents didn't have a clue on how to handle him either, sending him to psychologists and therapists to get his stimming under control and work on his people skills, which were promptly thrown out of the window at university, because everybody still hated him for his quirks and filter-less brain. Until John, nobody had really bothered to see under the thick skin Sherlock had wrapped around himself, seen past the sociopath facade. So, in losing John, he was probably actually justified in his crying.

Still, I was going to visit him, at the least I could give him a conversation, possibly a game of deductions or an argument he so fondly enjoyed. It could possibly lift his spirits, at least stop him crying into his sofa pathetically.

I let myself into 221b Baker Street when I arrived ten minutes later, nodding to the guards hanging around their positions. Mrs Hudson was in her own flat, washing dishes by the sounds of it. How could she possibly be so ignorant of my brother’s suffering upstairs? He was exceptionally quiet yes, but that usually a sign of danger, how was she _not_ noticing him? Or was she just getting blasé to him? Unlikely, she treated Sherlock like her own son, she was most likely giving him space, or used to his silence by now.

"Go away Mycroft." Sherlock snivelled into his cushion as I entered the room.

"Sadly not happening brother mine, Detective Inspector Lestrade wants to know how you're healing, I told him I'd come to take a check." I lied, because I was _not_ admitting I was here of my own free will, seeing him because he looked lonely.

"Liar, he'd text John as he oversaw my treatment." Sherlock turned over to glare at me. Good to know he still had some mental faculties intact, and that he could be drawn into an argument.

"Fine, I wanted to see how you were doing. I'm not exactly in Doctor Watson's good books right now." I sat down in Sherlock's chair, noting the armchair was still missing from the front room. There was still some bits of medical equipment on the kitchen table from the first aid kit, no doubt they'd stay there to the point where they became furniture, a reminder of John for Sherlock to cling to. He always had been a bit clingy to the things he found comforting.

"You were never in John's good books." Sherlock raised an eyebrow, "And that was mostly because you invaded both of our lives by spying on us and such things. It annoyed him, because he likes privacy. And yet you still do it, you picked him up from the surgery to bring him here the first time, and you have surveillance around here, so you _know_ how I'm doing. You came round for another reason." He continued, _damn it._

"I'm not going into my reasons as to why I come round to see you Sherlock, it's boring and a waste of time, and we both hate wasting time." I glared at my little brother, the tears had stopped falling, but his eyes were still puffy and red.

Not for the first time, I didn't see the adult version of him; I saw the twelve year old. The emotional little boy, who ran around the garden with his dog whenever he was home from school, interested in everything the world had to offer. The one who phoned me up at midnight from his school, crying to me to convince our parents to bring him home because the other boys were horrible to him for his differences. The situation was similar, in that Sherlock had been reduced to tears from other people's reactions to his actions.

"Stop looking at me like I'm a child Mycroft. I haven't been a child for a long time." Sherlock glared, the evidence of tears ruined the look completely, not that he ever had an effect on me anyway.

"Don't we all know it," I muttered to myself as the door opened, Mrs Hudson finally entering the flat.

"Oh hello Mycroft, I thought I heard your voice! I can come back later if you boys are busy." She turned to leave again.

"No, no by all means stay if you wish." Sherlock practically reached out to grab her to make her stay; he really was desperate wasn't he?

"Okay dear, I'll put the kettle on." She went to the kitchen to make tea; she always seemed to make tea.

"So you've been given the all clear from Doctor Watson with your health?" I changed the topic of conversation to a neutral thing that wouldn’t cause arguments.

"Yes, as if you didn't already know. The infection has cleared and the wounds have closed and are healing healthily." Sherlock rolled his eyes at the first statement, sitting up to give Mrs Hudson room to sit down after handing us all out some tea.

"Oh that's great news, isn't it Mycroft? You've been so ill recently, I'm glad to hear it!" Mrs Hudson smiled at Sherlock, gently touching his arm; he all but melted into it, though he tried to hard not to. The poor boy had looked in that moment positively touch starved.

"Great news," I dead panned in agreement, "I'm guessing you're going to want to go back to consulting with the police again? Or shall we open the website for clients?" We'd kept the website closed for a bit, to keep Sherlock away from temptation of taking on cases he currently couldn't handle.

"How about both, it's ridiculously boring waiting for the criminals of the world to dredge up from their hiding places." Sherlock sighed in exasperation.

"Not yet, we know what's happened before when you've been overworking yourself. You're not to overwork yourself." I warned him, he knew this, he wasn't to work himself to the bone just because he was desperate for normallacy, "Nobody wants an actual trip to a hospital. They're such tedious places, and Mummy will no doubt have a fit over it."

"And she'll insist on a visit." Sherlock groaned, he did love our parents, but our mother really did love to hover and over protect. Luckily our father was better in that respect, he hovered at a distance, not being overbearing or suffocating.

"Yes she will. That went well last time didn't it?" I raised an eyebrow, the last hospital visit of Sherlock's that wasn't involving him pitching himself off the roof, Mummy had stressed him out so much with her hovering he'd literally screamed, it had not been pleasant.

"Oh yes, _so_ well." Sherlock held in a shudder, Mrs Hudson looked confused.

"I think I'll leave you boys to it. No antagonising each other okay? I know you're secretly pleased to see him." Mrs Hudson stood up.

"Oh yes, I can hardly contain happiness." I put on a smile for the old woman.

"He really can you know." Sherlock smirked.

"Behave, you both love each other really, no matter what you pretend." Mrs Hudson petted Sherlock's hair and bustled out of the room, leaving the two of us alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The kudos and comments have been lovely again, thank you for leaving them! :D


	36. Chapter 36

35 Sherlock's POV

I rolled my eyes at Mrs Hudson's statement, before jumping up and going over to the bookcase.

"Seeing as you're here, fancy a game?" Might as well play a game, I had literally nothing else to do because I had no cases. Also, games annoyed Mycroft no end, but he was here for a _visit,_ he had to play the part of concerned older brother. And younger brother wanted to play, so badly wanted to have a game of _something._ It was better than talking, so much better than talking, and sometimes entertaining too.

"Must we play games Sherlock? We aren't children anymore." Mycroft sighed with annoyance. _He thinks you're a child._ He's always thought of me as a child, playing games wasn't exactly lowering expectations of me. Plus, we'd played chess in our down time for years; it wasn't like we were playing Operation, which was also an option...

"You never were a child, you were born middle aged. And yes we have to, _you_ are visiting out of _concern_ for me, so let me prove that I'm okay to you by playing a game of chess." I dragged the box out, setting up the pieces from memory.

"I was not born middle aged brother mine, I was just born with a sense of maturity, unlike you." Mycroft said with no hint of malice, more exasperation.

"All I'm hearing is that you were born boring with no sense of fun. Now come on, try and beat me, my strategy skills have improved greatly over the past few years." I challenged. I was unsure where this sudden confidence had come from, but I was embracing it. Confidence was a good thing, a good sign of normallacy. Especially after that panic attack from earlier, the crushing realisation that John wasn't coming back, it was just me in this dusty old flat again.

"Sherlock stop thinking about John's absence and make a move. If you're forcing me to play, you should _actually_ play, or possibly get a chair out instead of sitting on the floor like a child." Mycroft said over my thoughts, looking thoroughly bored.

He'd moved his first piece, I moved likewise. "You're just jealous that I can get up off the floor without the assistance of a crane due to my huge weight." I mumbled, analysing the board, Mycroft's moves, anticipating his next steps, cutting him off and placing counter attacks across the board.

"It's better to be a bit overweight than look like Death himself brother mine." Mycroft tried a clever move, I blocked him again.

"I've put on ten pounds since I came back." I commented.

"Yes, and you still look like a junkie." Mycroft shot back, making a _very_ stupid move. I grinned to myself and knocked out the piece he'd stupidly moved, I was _so_ going to win this game!

"Don't look so smart Sherlock; I'm still the smart one." Mycroft warned.

"Yes and that's why I'm going to win this ga-" I cut myself off when Mycroft moved his final piece into winning position... How?

"Good try brother mine, yet you still failed to look far enough ahead to see that I was lulling you into a false sense of security and that it was all a clever plan. How _very_ telling to your current situation." Mycroft smirked, leaning back in his chair in triumph.

"That's not fair! You cheated!" He had to have cheated! He couldn't have won so easily, I planned it all, saw all the moves ahead of time!

"I did no such thing Sherlock; I used my superior intelligence against you and _won._ Which you didn't see, which you _never_ see. You try to pretend that you're cleverer than everyone else in the room, yet you're still so naive to others that you forget that you're different." Mycroft explained.

"And what the hell is that supposed to mean exactly?" I asked, really, what the _hell_ was that supposed to mean?

"You keep on looking for love and acceptance from all these people, the ones you call your friends, but you're not going to find it. You're different Sherlock, so different from them all, and you've seen and done things they can't even imagine. Not even your precious John can understand what you've been through. Stop trying to look for their love or their acceptance. What's done is done, you can't repair the damage you caused them all by your death, even if you explain all the reasons behind it. They're always going to remember how it felt to watch you die, to go to your funeral, all of it. Stop trying to prove you're a nice person. Just get back to your normal ways of doing things, stop all this guilt for it too. Move on and get back to your life. It'll be less painful and won't be a waste of time." Mycroft answered, was that seriously his advice in this situation? To move on, pretend everything was okay?

"Yes because that worked so well last time." I rolled my eyes, because it _hadn't._ All that it had proved was that pretending to move on and become a sociopath didn't work. It just hampered with my work to the point where I couldn't even look at a crime scene sent me into flashbacks and caused incredible pain.

"Maybe you weren't trying hard enough, holding out for your doctor to sweep you up and save you again." Mycroft argued.

"You know _nothing_ of how hard I'm trying with this! You can't possibly understand, you weren't the one doing all those things in those two years! You were in the comfort of London, carrying on like usual, only coming in to give me information when it was needed! I was the one out there in the thick of it, completely by myself, no back up, barely any advantage! I was the one fighting for my _life_ Mycroft, in complete isolation! You can't possibly understand that, you've never done field work in your life!" I shouted at him, how could he possibly say I wasn't trying to get back to normal?! I was trying my best to get back to normal!

I was going back on cases whenever I was called, trying to tramp down all these memories and feelings away, how could Mycroft possibly know what that was like?! How could he say that I needed to try harder?! I _was_ trying harder! _Are you really? Or are you just pretending you are and are instead hiding from everyone?_ I wasn't hiding! I was trying!

"Are you really? Is that why you're avoiding sleep as much as possible, only eating when being practically forced to, when _John_ is here? Are you really trying to get better, or at you just scared of life without John so you're hiding from it?" Mycroft argued cooly.

"I'm not hiding from my life Mycroft! Don't you think I want John back more than anything? Of course I do, but I'm learning to deal with things without him, but its hard okay? It's _so_ hard, because he made such a deep impression on my entire life! You wouldn't understand, you've never had a friend in your life! And don't you dare say I should be used to it because I was alone before him, because I know it okay? I _know_ I should be used to it, especially after these past two years. But it's so hard, it's nearly impossible when he's been taken from me because of my own doing. But I'm _trying_ my best, and if that isn't good enough for you, then you can get out of my flat right now and leave me to it. Because I'm not superhuman, I can't be superhuman all the time. I can't even be a machine, I can just be human, and I need time. That's all; I just need time to adjust." I fell onto the sofa, putting my head in my hands.

I was trying my best here, wanting nothing more than my normal life to come back. But now there was a huge John shaped hole in it, and I wasn't getting that back. These last two weeks had proved that more than anything, because he'd barely been able to look at me, let alone actually talk about anything at all. There was nobody else around who could replace John for me either, there was just him, nobody could compare.

And I'd screwed it up, screwed up our entire relationship because of one damn man with his snipers and 'final problems' and everything else. I had just tried to do the right thing, tried to save John, Lestrade and Mrs Hudson's lives, then gone on to kill others to take down an entire criminal network. But by not telling them that, I'd severed that link with them, holding onto my connections with Mrs Hudson and Lestrade by a thread. John though, he'd only needed me for the adrenaline rushes of cases, never actually needed _me,_ or liked me for that matter. Two years had been enough to sever our link so much he'd probably found other ways to get his adrenalin fix, get more friends, _better_ friends. Ones that didn't leave severed heads in the fridge and play violin at 3am in the morning. He'd even gotten himself a cheap flat to live in too, so he didn't even need to share with me to afford to live.

So I had nothing to bring him back to me, no qualities to make him come back, nothing I could do was going to bring him back here. And that was _so hard_ to deal with, so very hard. I just needed time to adjust to that, get my feet back on the ground, and find my way back into the world again. That was all, I'd be fine, I'd be able to deal with the world then. But I just, I just needed some time to figure out how life went without John in it.

"Okay... Get some sleep brother, you'll recover soon." An awkward hand fell to my shoulder briefly, before Mycroft left the flat too, the realisation of just how much I'd lost echoing in my head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've just noticed that 91 people have subscribed to this fic! Wow thank you so much! Glad to see so many are enjoying it! :D


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for all the comments/kudos!  
> This is probably the last chapter I'll put up before Christmas so happy holidays everyone!

36 Sherlock's POV

I sat for hours, thinking about that realisation, the realisation that John really had moved onto better things and didn't need more anymore. And he was still so monumentally angry at me I had no hope of ever making that better. How could I possibly make it better? I'd tried apologising, which caused more anger, tried joking but that had backfired badly, had even just tried being quiet and not mentioning it. But that only ended with John staying in 'doctor mode' like he was with just any patient, not me.

_Why would he want to be with you? You screwed up his life, dragged him around on cases at all hours, left dead things in the fridge, made the kitchen a biohazard and basically made him your live in carer._ I don't know, I just thought maybe, just maybe, they'd been a small sliver of him that actually liked me as a person. _Don't be absurd._ I guess, I'd never had people to call friends, why did I ever think that there was a bit of John who actually cared? From the first day he moved in I knew that he was different from the rest of the human population, but at the same time had always been wary of him leaving, moving in with one of his girlfriends, finding a better flat. It had always been in the back of my mind, screaming that it was going to happen whenever he left the flat after an argument. _So why didn't you change to make him stay?!_

Because I didn't want to believe it! I wanted to believe that he'd stay, because he was a _friend._ Even though he constantly reacted angrily to any hint that we were a couple, corrected me a few times when I called him a friend in front of others, and mocked me for things I didn't know about, like the solar system. I'd wanted to believe that he was here because he genuinely liked me as a person, not just here for the adrenaline rush from cases that he desperately needed.

_Too late for that wish now, he's left for the last time. You're completely alone again._ And didn't I know it. Adjusting was so hard, even after the past two years of isolation and torture. I should have been used to being alone but I wasn't, it just wasn't _right_ anymore. I was home; I was supposed to have the people I called friends around me, giggling at crime scenes and chasing criminals with John, getting worried visits from Mrs Hudson, arguing with Donovan and Anderson, and antagonising Mycroft over his weight. But so little of that was here, and I didn't have half the energy I wanted to have to try and adjust. I was just _so_ run down right now, so incredibly run down.

\---                                                

Days later, I was still sleepless and nowhere near figuring out what to do with myself. But, I did get a text from Lestrade.

'I hear you're off sick leave, fancy joining me for a case?' He'd texted. Yes, oh my God _yes_ did I want to join him on a case! I felt dead on my feet but I'd do anything for a distraction from all this angsting and loneliness. A good case could help. _If you don't freak out again. Like the last two times._ Well then I was going to try harder, hold it in until I got home. _Yes **great** plan that one. Your emotions are all over the place, you can't control yourself. _I was going to damn well learn to again! I'd sat around the flat feeling sorry for myself for too long, I was going to get back to my damn life and I wasn't going to be stopped by things that had happened in the past that didn't matter anymore!

"Going out to a crime scene Mrs Hudson!" I called as I ran down the stairs, as she had asked to inform her when I was leaving. _Probably to tell Mycroft, she's spying on you._ Or she was concerned about where I was going. My brother knew of my whereabouts at all time because he had people watching with their cameras and secret operatives. He didn't need to make my landlady a spy. _Which was why he tried to get John to spy on you when you first met._ That was more of a test of his character, interfering with my friends as usual.

"Have fun dear!" Mrs Hudson called back as I closed the door, hailing a taxi and telling them to drive to the crime scene.

On arrival, I found Lestrade waiting for me, looking remarkably calm until I actually got out the taxi, then he just looked worried again.

"Damn kid, you look like you've gone six rounds against Ali!" He remarked.

"I have no idea who that is and I'm fine, just didn't sleep well last night," _or the night before that, or the night before that, or... well, since before you left,_ "What have you got for me?" I shoved that annoying voice to the back of my mind. I wasn't sulking or having that chattering away in my head while I was working. This was not a time for the very emotionally compromised Sherlock; this was a time for indestructible sociopath Sherlock. Time to put on another show.

"If you say so. But yeah, anyway we got two bodies, looks like a murder/suicide but I thought you should take a look, just in case." Lestrade explained, lifting the police tape for me to duck under and follow him through the house.

"Freak's back." Donovan commented as I walked onto the crime scene.

**Two bodies, male and female. Couple. Two head shots, one in each head. Female through the forehead, male through the... through the mouth. _Do not think of Moriarty shooting his brains out._ Consistent with a murder suicide, gun held in the right hand, both of the couple were right handed, no signs of foul play. **

"Great, what have I done wrong _this_ time? Did I move more vital evidence? Should I face the other way because I'm putting you off?" Anderson growled before I even opened my mouth.

**_The gun appeared out of nowhere, Moriarty stuffed it into his mouth and shot, the sound reverberating through the air as he fell to the floor with a small thud. He'd shot himself, nothing could call off the snipers, everyone was in danger, I had to jump._** Nope, wasn't thinking of that right now. I was sociopath anyway, it shouldn't be bothering me.

"Yes what does the Great Sherlock Holmes desire from us lowly beings, since we're inconveniencing him with our presence while he's getting off on a crime scene." Donovan hissed.

"Enough you two. See anything out of the ordinary Sherlock, or is it a murder suicide like we thought?" Lestrade asked, arms crossed. _He's waiting, get on with it!_

"It's, it's," I couldn't find words, all I could see was Moriarty blowing out his brain inches from my face, falling to the floor, blood and bits of brain everywhere, sealing my own fate.

"I bet that's what he intended his faked death to look like, a murder/suicide. Or a suicide/suicide considering how _that_ body looked." Anderson glared, Lestrade told him to shut up again.

"I can't believe you brought him back Lestrade, after all the shit we went through with him and you bring him back! For simple cases like this no less! How could you possibly trust him, we still don't know how he fell off a roof and lived!" Donovan protested.

**_Texting Mycroft to ready the homeless network with the airbag, phoning John. Tears falling down as I realised that I was leaving him for an unknown amount of time, leaving everybody. I knew it was going to happen, but not so soon, please not so soon._ **

"I... I, there was a plan." I explained lamely, wanting to fall through the floor and die.

"I brought him back because I _trust_ him and we _need_ him. Now be quiet and let him get on with it before I send the both of you home for misconduct." Lestrade warned, they both quieted for a second, "Let's try again shall we, do you see anything out of the ordinary?" He continued to me, all eyes in the room on me.

"N-Normal, normal murder/suicide... probably due to debt, or, or something. I don't... just normal murder/suicide. I, I have to go." I raced out of the flat and into the street, heaving in breath and wishing the memories of that cursed day out of my head, praying that they'd just leave. Why couldn't it all just go away?! I didn't want to see Moriarty's brains being blown out, didn't want to think of John's scream of my name, his speech at my grave. I didn't want to think about it, didn't want to see it, I didn't want _any_ of it!

But nothing I did slowed the memories and flashbacks down, nothing I could do stopped them slamming through to the forefront of my mind every time I saw something that reminded me of it. I couldn't sleep it off because it felt so much more real in my dreams, couldn't go to crime scenes, or even look at photographs because they reminded me so much of everything I'd seen and done in the past two years. Nothing got any easier; there was nothing to ground me in this moment, nothing to remind me that I was home, because home still didn't feel like home. Nothing felt right, nothing felt _normal._

I couldn't sleep, could barely eat either due to the stress and guilt. Every day just felt like a never ending torture or loneliness and flashbacking guilt and terror. I couldn't even do anything that made me happy anymore either, the violin would wind up Mrs Hudson and the neighbours as I'd be screeching on it again, the crime scenes made me worse, baths weren't relaxing and made all the air get sucked out of the room, it all just felt _so wrong._ The world dulled into grey scale again, where I just waited for the next flashback or memory to hit, waited to be told 'you're useless to Scotland Yard now, we're not using you anymore,' waiting for Mycroft to turn up and take me to some facility to pump me full of mind numbing drugs and call it 'therapy.'

I was just waiting for something like that to happen, just waiting for the final nail in the coffin to be hammered home. To have the last few dredges of my life taken away from me, so everything really would be gone as it already felt. I was so scared of it happening though, so scared that I was actually going to be left with no work and no flat, stuck in some mental health facility drooling due to all the drugs I was on to keep all the nightmares away. It was going to happen, I could feel it.

The machine was broken, and who kept broken machines around if they couldn't be fixed? Nobody. I was just waiting to be chucked out with the rest of the rubbish, taken away from society and hidden like a shameful thing to be never talked about again.


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everybody had a great Christmas holiday and had a good well deserved rest! Thanks for all the kudos and comments!

37 Lestrade's POV

If I was being honest, I didn't actually need Sherlock to look at the murder suicide case, it was obvious from the start what it was and the reasons behind it. I just wanted to give him a little a test to see if he really was up for cases again, and I concluded that he was, despite the slightly strange behaviour. I put that down to Donovan and Anderson's taunting, as they had been particularly mean that day and he'd probably had a confidence knock from those previous cases I'd called him out on. So, I continued bringing Sherlock along on the tougher cases, texting him for opinions other times, just to keep him in the loop and his brain active.

But, there was an issue. Sherlock still wasn't acting like himself. He was... Well, he was still out of sorts. Not in an back-on-drugs way either, Mycroft could confirm that too as his none of his goons, or his CCTV, picked up Sherlock even leaving the house, letting alone getting drugs. But there was a noticeable change in Sherlock's demeanour every time I saw him.

Whenever he turned up to a crime scene, he ignored any abuse hurled at him by Anderson and Donovan, not bothering to fight back with them. He didn't even berate me for giving him 'ridiculously simple' cases to look at, or even bother to comment on anything he'd picked up just by looking at me. No calls of us all being idiots for not seeing what was right under our noses, no fighting with _anyone,_ just deductions. He came, he deduced, told me nicely where to look, and left. And went _straight home._ Sherlock didn't pursue leads, didn't come along on interrogations, no going off and breaking the law to prove himself right. I'd never seen him so compliant, or agreeable.

And I wouldn't have minded the change in him at all if he hadn't looked like he'd gotten his soul ripped out of him. Even though the lad was clear from infected wounds, or wounds in general, and drugs, he looked a step away from death. Skinny as his former drug addicted self, bruised eyes from lack of sleep. Sometimes he even came out in wrinkled clothes, which _really_ worried me. Sherlock never had a curl out of place, always looked immaculate in his expensive clothes and perfect hair, no matter the case at hand. And while he never looked _messy_ as such, he looked... He just looked like he'd stopped caring about everything.

Even now, as I watched him observing the latest crime scene I'd needed him at, there was just an echo of the Sherlock we had all known before his faked suicide. There was absolutely no hint of joy whatsoever as he looked over the body, just quiet thought. I hadn't seen him even hint at a smile in weeks, instead seen him look lost and alone when he thought nobody was watching, holding himself upright and putting on a proud facade when he had eyes on him. If I hadn't thought he'd react badly, I would have hugged him close and promised him all the murder in the world if it made him feel sure of himself again.

"What d'ya see kid?" I asked after he'd been observing for a few minutes.

"Bullet was fired from across the street, travelling through the open window and straight into the victims head. You're looking for his sister, who is set to inherit his fortune after he dies. She made the shot, it would be easy for her, she's been training with guns for most of her life." Sherlock said in a monotone, talking like he was only half in the room with us.

"Right, we'll start a search for the sister, you want to help? It's been a while since you've had a good chase around the city." I offered him, desperate to keep him with me right now. Sherlock hadn't even been like this before he met John, and he'd been borderline _suicidal_ back then, no matter how much he tried to deny it. It had been clear to me that the only reason why he hadn't actually off'd himself was because he wasn't ever going to follow the 'suicidal genius' cliché, or prove that he was actually depressed or lonely to his brother. But dying while on a case, he was practically _begging_ for it back then. Now... Now I didn't even know what he wanted, he had no life, no fight in himself anymore.

"No, you've got more than enough officers to handle it." Sherlock's face flashed for less than a second with hurt.

"You sure? You're quicker than most of them, and know this city like the back of your hand so could easily follow her if she runs." I tried to entice him, resting a hand on his shoulder, feeling all the bones under that thick coat of his, which he'd turned practically into a portable safety blanket.

"It's fine, they'll catch her easy enough." Sherlock sighed, shoving his hands further into his pockets.

"What, no comment about the incompetency of this police force?" I raised an eyebrow, trying to get _something_ out of him that wasn't a fact. Just an opinion, a comment about our idiocy, _something._

"There's nothing to comment about." Sherlock shrugged, "Do you want me to insult your team, you usually don't like it." He looked quite confused at the statement.

"Well, not really, because it's usually not very nice. But I guess I was kinda expecting it, because you usually do comment on something to do with them." I watched him nod sadly; did he seriously have to look so much like an innocent twelve year old right now? Did John _really_ look at him and say that he couldn't forgive him, or at least listen to his explanation for his faked suicide? Sure, I hadn't heard it either, but I knew it was done with good reason, and the time away had clearly affected Sherlock more than he'd bargained for.

"Can I go now? I erm, I have an experiment I need to be getting back to." Sherlock tried putting the mask of indifference back on his face, but it was shattered by his small stutter and the actual question. He never asked to leave, just walked out. I wasn't stopping him either, he could just go if he wished, but instead he was _asking_ to leave. _What had happened to this poor sod?_

"Yeah, yeah sure you can. But... Do you want to go to the pub or something tonight? Just the two of us, you look like you need a drink." Probably the worst thing to say to an ex-addict who'd tried to get back onto cocaine a few months ago, but my God, I couldn't just leave him like this. I couldn't let him go back to that dusty flat of his to sit on his own for days on end, with only a few visits from Mrs Hudson. Sherlock may have hated people and social interaction, but he needed it more than he could ever admit.

"But you'll be needed on the case." Sherlock gave me another perplexed look, that held confusion over my necessity in this case and why anybody would possibly want to spend time with him.

"Donovan can handle it I'm sure, and I need a good drink anyway, it's been a while." I shrugged it off, praying that he wouldn't think that I was calling him vulnerable, or that I was pitying him.

"I'm not supposed to, recovering addict and all that." Sherlock looked away then, towards the door.

"Doesn't have to be the pub - that was just a suggestion. How about this, you sort out that experiment of yours and once I've finished up here, I'll bring round a takeaway, yeah? You can tell me all about it, and how you figured out this case right here too." I smiled at him, hoping that that would work. Casual chat wasn't Sherlock's strong point, but give him a topic he knew a lot about and he wouldn't shut up for hours. It would probably be horrendously boring for me, but worth it, if it gave Sherlock just a few hours of company.

"That's not necessary Lestrade, I can order takeaway by myself." Sherlock didn't meet my eyes as he said it.

"I'm not saying you can't. I'm just thinking that you could do with a guys night in, without that brother of yours being all cryptic and nosey and calling that company." I tried to joke.

"He's nosey but he's not cryptic if you know him... What happens on a guy’s night in?" Ah-ha, I'd peaked a bit of interest!

"Simple, a couple of guys hang out together in one of their houses, eat takeaway, watch a couple of films, have a bit of a yack about whatever. It's fun." I explained, had he really never done something like that before... Why was I bothering asking that, this was Sherlock we were on about, he barely knew the meaning of the word 'friend.'

"Oh... I, I don't think I can. My experiment, it needs... it needs seeing to, for a long time. So I won't be able to 'yack' as you put it, because I'll be busy. Sorry." Sherlock explained and turned away, rushing out of the building and into a cab before I could stop him.


	39. Chapter 39

38 Sherlock’s POV                                   

I didn’t know what to say to Lestrade’s offer of a guy’s night in, I didn’t really understand the concept. What was the use of it? And, why would Lestrade want to have on with _me_? He’d never offered it before, never really expressed a want to spend time with me outside of work related situations. _He’s running maintenance on his machine, probably thinks you need company to keep you in top condition._ And I would probably only fail that test, it was best to keep him away from seeing what was going on behind closed doors, keep hold of the consulting work for as long as possible.

Though, I wished I’d accepted his offer by the time I got home, wishing there was something other than silence in the flat. Or just the presence of someone else to make this isolated feeling go away for a bit. _Get used to it; it’s all you’re going to be feeling for the rest of your life._ I knew that, I just, I just wished that I could have someone come round for a little bit, even if we did sit in silence the entire time. I just wanted a bit of company, a social interaction with someone other than my brother which I didn’t screw up completely as I didn’t read social cues properly. _Or because you said the completely wrong thing as you don’t know how to communicate anything past deductions._

I winced at the thought and decided to give up and curl up in bed. My bedroom had become a safe haven to me over the past few weeks, it was a place that I could hide in and not be forced to interact, where I wouldn’t be caught out doing something weird, like stimming again. I could hide in there and do whatever I wanted, and have enough time to make it look like I was asleep by the time someone came to my door. Or at least stop whatever I was doing.

I’d also brought down John’s pillow from his bed recently, and while there were only faint traces of him left on the case, it was still a comfort to have him close in some form. There weren’t words to describe how much I missed his daily visits to the flat. While many of my emotions were dulled beyond recognition, the feeling of missing John was so strong it was almost consuming inside my mind. I’d mentally listed every single way I missed him at least six times this past week, and that wasn’t including the mental lists of the things that I would do differently in our time together in an effort to make him stay. Of all the things I’d say to him to make him stay here with me, just for a little bit longer. All I wanted was to have him here, even if he spent all of his time in his room, only coming down to use the kitchen and the bathroom, I still wanted him _here._

“Yoo hoo, Sherlock, I brought you some dinner! Sherlock? Oh are you in bed again?” Mrs Hudson called, turning into musing to herself. I internally groaned and curling up further into the duvet, feigning sleep in case she came in.

Her footsteps certainly came towards the door, and it did open. “There you are, must still be exhausted after all this case work coming at you.” _If only that were true._ If only it was, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d actually slept properly without a nightmare.

“At least you’re quiet this time, all that screaming I hear late at night. Sounds like you’re in horrific pain.” A tray was placed on the bedside table, and a hand pushed my curls off my face gently, I forced myself to stay completely still. _She knows! She knows about the nightmares!_ How did she know about them?! How could she possibly know about the nightmares?! I’d tried to sleep only when she wasn’t in! And I thought that Mrs Hudson was a bit deaf, how did she possibly hear me?!

I all of a sudden was filled with the urge to apologise for disturbing her with my nightmares, but then she’d know that I was awake and that I had heard every word she said. So I forced myself to remain still, act like I was asleep as always. Mrs Hudson hadn’t come up to see me while I was ‘awake’ in days, for so long in fact that I didn’t really know how to interact with her anymore.

_You don’t know how to interact with anybody anyway, just pretend to be asleep whenever someone comes round from now on, it’ll make life easier._ It probably would, to not have conversations with anybody, unless at a crime scene. I could partially deal with that; it was simpler than normal conversation, say what I saw, parrot my thoughts on the victim and the murderer. Keep everything else inside, tramp down every single urge to have a panic attack, or shout at everybody there to stop taunting me, I hadn’t done anything to them, I didn’t want to be taunted and hated when I’d done nothing wrong to them. _Apart from nearly make their boss lose his job._ Apart from that!

Mrs Hudson soon left the room, but she didn’t go downstairs, instead she seemed to be phoning someone. “Hello, is that Detective Inspector Lestrade? Yes, it’s Mrs Hudson, Sherlock’s landlady. You asked me to phone you to give you an update on Sherlock, because he’s been off for the past few weeks.” _They’re all spying on you,_ “No, there’s no sign of an experiment from what I can see. To be perfectly the honest, the flat is cleaner than it’s ever been, there’s not even a microscope out. Unless that experiment is to do with sleeping... Yes dear, you heard me right, Sherlock is sleeping. He’s doing it a lot now you see, I barely even see him awake anymore... Not that I know of, but I’ll check for anything like that.”

_He’s asking about drugs, Lestrade thinks you’re on drugs again._ But I wasn’t on drugs, I just, I just didn’t want to talk to anybody right now. Or leave the safety of my bed for that matter. The rest of the flat held no interest to me anymore, there was nothing there for me, there was just... It was just empty without John. I’d rather not see it, be reminded of how much I’d screwed up and what I’d lost.

“No, there are no pill packages or any of that stuff lying around. Though I’m no drugs squad so I may not be looking in the right places... Do you think we need a drugs bust? I don’t think Sherlock is having that problem at the moment, that brother of his wouldn’t allow it, he’s said so to me many times recently. But I don’t know what else could be wrong with him; he can’t surely be this tired can he? Though he is having nightmares... Yes he’s having nightmares Inspector, really loud, screaming ones. They’ve woken me up a few times recently, so he must be tired from all that, might be playing catch up... Okay, I’ll keep an eye on him again; keep you updated on what he’s doing... No I don’t think you should stop bringing him to as many crime scenes, he needs those more than anything right now. It gives him something for his brain to do, takes his mind off John, I say keep on bringing him along, if not just to give him a few minutes break from thinking about John.” The phone call wrapped up and Mrs Hudson left the flat.

Why was everyone determined to spy on me and talk about me behind my back, like I couldn’t look after myself? I was perfectly capable of it, I really was! It wasn’t like I was a child anymore, I didn’t need to be looked after, or to be mollycoddled, or anything of the sort! I just, I just wanted to be left alone, that was all. I just wanted to be able to get on with my life without interference, without being overlooked, without worrying I was annoying others, or worrying them. That was all I asked, was it too much to ask for?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the kudos and comments again!  
> Happy new year to everybody if I don't get a chance to say it before tomorrow!


	40. Chapter 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick update before I go back to essay writing, thanks for the kudos/comments!

39 Sherlock's POV

I curled up in my bed for the entire night, not wanting to leave for the next hundred years, possibly ever. Usually I would have been bored by now, my brain melting with lack of activity, but by now I was just... There was nothing. Not a thought, apart from the voice in my head and the flashbacks that took everything I had to not scream in reaction to. I just took it all, giving up completely in exchange to just lay still and watch the sun and moon cross by the window and _not_ look at John's chair.

Not a sound echoed throughout the flat, everything was silent, apart from the inside of my head, which still _screamed_ in thoughts and memories and regrets. That was until the door opened and closed in the morning, around 7am. From the footstep patterns, I could tell it was Lestrade. _What could he possibly want with you?_

“Hey, Sherlock, where are you lad?” He called out, opening my bedroom door, “Ah there you are! Up and at ‘em, you’re coming with me today!” Lestrade clapped his hands together, grinning.

I only groaned, burying myself further into my pillow, I didn’t want to leave my bed today. I didn’t want to leave it _any_ day. It meant having to try and pretend to be normal, subject myself to more crime scenes, more flashbacking memories, and more abuse from Anderson and Donovan. I didn’t want any of it! _You should have jumped and died when you had the chance._ Why did I make that damn plan in the first place?!

“None of that groaning lad, you’re not a teenager anymore, even if you look twelve! Now up and dressed, you’re coming with me to the station for the day!” Lestrade yanked the duvet off of my bed, I tensed. _He’s taking you to the station! He’s figured out what you did over the past two years! You’re getting arrested!_ No, oh God no. I didn’t want to go to prison, please; I really could not go to prison! _Well you’re going to the station with Lestrade, what do you think was going to happen?!_ No!

“Hey, what’s the matter? You usually love coming down to the station to solve some cold cases! Have you come down with something?” Lestrade hesitated before sitting on the bed, putting his hand on my forehead. I didn’t even bother waving him off.

“Well you don’t feel hot. So what’s up with you this morning? Not fancying coming in?” _watch him force you into the station, finally complete the arrest he was supposed to make two years ago. Though this time it’ll be justified._

“I thought that there were no more cold cases to solve?” I figured that that was a good protest to give.

“Well I asked around the rest of the office, Dimmock had a couple, so did a few others. The other DI’s around the office believe in your abilities, so they’re totally up for you to help solve some cold cases.” _He’s still testing to see if the machine works. He’s hoping for an improvement so he doesn’t have to dump you. It’s either that or it’s a ruse to get you near the police station for arresting._

“Can’t you just bring them here?” I asked, really, I didn’t want to leave the bed. Or shower or get dressed and pretend to not hear anything being said about me down at the yard. _Should have been used to it by now._ I should have been, but I wasn’t. I never would be either, I _hated_ hearing them talking about me. Never again if I could help it, maybe if I just stayed here, I’d be okay. I felt better here; at least I had control here.

“Well I could, but I figured you’d rather spend some time down in the station with me. You’ve been cramped up in here for far too long, surely that mind of yours is melting with boredom. So I thought it was a good idea to get you up and out for a bit, give you a few hours of not-boredom either.” Lestrade smiled, I held in another groan. Lestrade probably wasn’t going to let this go and force me out to the station, so I forced myself out of bed, braving the shower and redressing, figuring it would go down better if I was at least dressed nicely. At the least, it would give one less thing for Anderson, Donovan, or anybody else who hated me, to shout at me for.

Though, I didn’t bother sorting out my hair. I couldn’t bring up the energy to do it, drying and detangling the curls, twisting them round into a reasonable mess, it was all too much effort. It was just easier to just leave it alone; it’s not like anybody cared _that_ much anyway.

“Ah, he emerges! I’ve made toast, so eat up before we leave.” Lestrade shoved a plate of toast under my nose. He looked rather nervous as he did so actually, looking at me so closely, like he was looking for signs of, well, _something._

_He’s searching for anymore evidence against you. He’s still spying on you, looking into your eating habits, your abilities in crime solving. Go with it, prove that you’re functioning and as normal as you can be before you get carted off to prison for your crimes. Or deactivated like the broken machine you are._

Slowly, I managed to chew through the toast, feeling sick as it rolled in my stomach. It wasn’t even burnt or anything, I just felt _sick,_ if I was completely honest, I just felt awful in general. I hadn’t even left the flat yet and I was already wanting to crawl back into bed, hopefully to never get back out again. Going out to the station seemed like such a long trek, and completely not worth the effort. It was just solving cold cases, being watched over by Lestrade and then talked about to my brother and land lady when I was brought back to the flat. I would have skipped out on the experience if it could be helped.

  _Not happening. You’re going to the station today. Maybe forever. There’s no way you’re actually being let back into solve more cold cases. You’re broken; you haven’t helped solve a case properly in months. And what’s to say that Scotland Yard still think you’re clever enough to solve cases? What’s to say that they still don’t believe Moriarty’s lies about you being a fake?_  

“Sherlock?” Lestrade made me jump, “Sorry lad, but you spaced out a minute there, been staring at the wall for five minutes, I thought I was going to have to send in a search team to find you.” He smiled.

“You can’t send a search party into my brain Lestrade, it’s impossible.” I answered, covering up the fact that I had apparently ‘spaced out’ just then. This was getting worse, what was going wrong with me right now?

“Just a joke kid. Now come on, we better get moving before we end up making me late for work.” Lestrade hurried us out, I followed along silently behind. I didn’t have a choice with this, there was no point in making an argument, even though all I wanted was to curl up under my duvet and not think or worry. Wasn’t it allowed, couldn’t I just hide away for a bit longer? I just, I just didn’t want to face the world, didn’t want to think, move, _breathe._ None of it. I just wanted to stay in bed, away from it all.


	41. Chapter 41

40 Sherlock's POV

Lestrade had driven to 221b in his normal car, not the police car. _Giving you a false sense of security before you get sent to prison._ Oh I didn’t care anymore. I was dragged out of bed; I didn’t care where I went anymore.

But I had to admit, I was pleasantly surprised when Lestrade did take us to his office. _Made it another day._ Though we didn’t stop there long, just long enough for Lestrade to grab a large pile of folders before leading us through to an empty conference room. The walk was shadowed by the mumbles of the office of officers, all of them staring at me as I shuffled past.

“What’s Lestrade got him here for?”

“There are no big cases on right now, so not a clue.”

“Think he’ll get through whatever he’s here for? He’s been acting weird for weeks.”

“What do you mean acting weird? He’s always been weird, he’s the Freak.” The last was said by Donovan, hissing the words with a deathly glare. Lestrade said nothing to her in argument.

“I figured it would be easier to give you a big conference room to work in, so you can spread out and such, my office is a bit too small. But I’m going to work in here for the day too, keep you a bit of company.” Lestrade shut the door behind us and dumped the files down on the table. He separated them into two piles, pushing most of the pile towards me. “Take a seat kid, there’s no need to stand there, get stuck in!” He encouraged, hanging his coat up and setting to work.

I wrapped mine up tighter around myself, curling up in my seat and starting work on the cold case files I’d been given. But it was _so hard_ to concentrate; I couldn’t focus on the words in front of me, or bring myself to look at the pictures of the crime scenes. It was just; I couldn’t see them, not without thinking of the things I’d seen in the past, the bodies _I’d_ left across the world. And on top of that, I could feel the eyes of the entire office on me, staring in to see what we were doing. They were talking to each other too, I couldn’t make it out, but they were definitely talking to one another.

Lestrade seemed fine with it though, working happily through his files, doing... whatever he was doing. How could he stand it? The constant feel of eyes on him, the whispers of anger, the _judgement_ of these people boring into his back. How did he possibly carry on without a care? Was he used to it? _How_ did he possible get used to this?! _You should be used to it by now; all you’ve ever been is stared at and talked about behind your back._

“I, I’ve got to go.” I rushed to get up; I couldn’t be here, not right now. All those eyes looking at us, at _me,_ judging and reading my body language. _Isn’t nice is it?_

“What? You only just got here!” Lestrade grabbed my arm, yanking me back to look at him.

“I... I just need to go, it’s too loud in here.” I tried to get away, feeling my skin itch at the feeling of all the eyes surrounding us, stripping me down to nothing. It made me want to tear my skin off, to stop the crawling feeling and hide under my duvet for the rest of my life so I _never had to feel like this again._

“Sherlock, it’s silent, there’s nothing in here apart from the two of us, and the lights aren’t even buzzing. I made sure of it beforehand.” Lestrade didn’t let me go.

“It’s not the lights, it’s... I just can’t, not right now.  I need to go, let me go.” I yanked myself out of his grip and stumbled out of the room, wrapping my coat around myself tightly like a safety blanket as I walked out the empty halls of Scotland Yard. _You’re being watched still, they’re all looking out for you in their offices. Mycroft is probably watching on the cameras too. You’re **always** being watched, constantly. There is no escape. _

Lestrade tried to call back for me but I didn’t listen, speeding up to a run to get out of the building and straight out into a waiting cab. _This could be Mycroft too. This cab could be taking you right to him._ Anything was better than staying in Scotland Yard. At least there would only be one person judging me there, even if it was the smug asshole I called my brother. He was better than the entire yard; I was used to his judging eyes, after spending my entire life being watched with them.

“You alright mate? Look like you’ve gone through a war zone!” The cab driver said after a few minutes of silence.

“You have no idea.” I mumbled, he didn’t have a _clue_ of the war zone I’d been through. _If he’s Mycroft’s men he does. He knows you’re a murderer and a broken machine that needs putting down. He’s probably driving you to your execution now._ No, that was _not_ happening because we were going the same route cabs always took to get to Baker Street.

“Wanna talk about it?” The cabbie asked, they usually didn’t care, what was with _this_ one being nice, when I didn’t want to talk?!

_Everyone can see that you’re broken. It’s so obvious; you’re going to be deactivated._

“No.” I glared at him, wanting to hurry this journey up, one of Mycroft’s men or not. I just wanted to be out of the eyes of the general public. Baker Street or whatever warehouse Mycroft fancied taking to me to. Everyone else was too much, all of it was too much right now. If I could just get out of the way of prying eyes, just sit and _breathe,_ I’d be happy.

_You’re never going to be at peace while alive, not without drugs. Can’t you hear what everyone’s saying about you? Can’t you **see** their thoughts? They’re all judging you, seeing that you’re broken, that you’re a murderer. They can see it; they’re starting to see that you’re losing your mind, becoming completely useless. It’s shocking that they actually thought that you were a genius when you first came back, after everything Moriarty said. He planted the idea that you’re a fake into everybody’s heads, now you’re proving it. _

“Alright,” The cabbie didn’t say a word for the rest of the journey, driving me, surprisingly, to Baker Street, “Here you are. That’ll be ten quid mate.”

I handed him the money and jumped out of the car, racing upstairs to my flat and slamming the door behind me. Mrs Hudson called out something, probably to do with door slamming, but I ignored her, running into my room and curling up under my duvet. Anything to get out of the way of prying eyes, from the _voices._ There was _so much noise_ outside this flat, so much information, so much of _everything._ I couldn’t process it, block it all out. Not like I used to. Before I fell, I could ignore most things, learn to block out the unimportant things. Now I couldn’t do anything without an onslaught of voices and deductions and just never ending thoughts and _feelings._

I wanted it to stop; I wanted _all_ of it to stop. Couldn’t it all just stop? I wanted to lie in bed and never move again, if I couldn’t stop all these things hitting me, I wanted to stay away from the world. It was easier to stay away; there were no thoughts, or flashbacks. No judging eyes. It was better to just hide away, so much easier. I wasn’t going to leave my bed, or my flat, ever again if I could help it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the kudos/comments again, they mean so much and have got me through all my coursework this Christmas holiday!


	42. Chapter 42

41 Lestrade’s POV              

“Sherlock! Where are you going?!” I called out to the man walking away hurriedly. But Sherlock didn’t turn around, practically running down the corridor and out of the office.

“Freak’s bottled it again.” Sally Donovan said to another officer with a smirk.

“Not another word about him Donovan.” I glared at the woman, wondering how the hell she could be so heartless to Sherlock. No matter what that man did, she treated him like he was a villain, like he was no better than Moriarty. Sure, we didn’t know why he’d jumped in the first place, but she should have been kinder do him now that she’d seen that he wasn’t okay.

“I was just saying-” She started.

“I said _not another word,_ and I mean it. He’s done nothing to you, I don’t want to hear a bad word about him, okay?” I warned again, leaving her to head to my office. I needed to phone Mycroft... and Mrs Hudson for that matter. No doubt Sherlock was going to head home, so Mrs Hudson needed to be told that Sherlock was coming home early, and that he may need an eye being kept on him. Though I was thinking that she shouldn’t hover too close, just close enough to make sure he wasn’t doing anything stupid, but far enough away to not provoke or suffocate him. Sherlock had always liked his space; I was guessing that that was even more important to him now. He’d spent days on end hiding in his bed, something I wasn’t used to seeing, none of us were. We didn’t know what to do with him, leaving him be seemed like a good idea because he wasn’t doing anything necessarily _bad,_ he just wasn’t doing _anything._

I prewarned Mrs Hudson to Sherlock's mood, and then set about phoning Mycroft Holmes. I always hated calling the smug man, because it felt like he was condescending to me the entire conversation.

“Ah, Detective Inspector Lestrade, what do I owe the pleasure of your call?” Mycroft answered his phone, smug as always, it put my teeth on edge.

“It’s about Sherlock.” I sighed, running a hand over my face.

“I guessed that far Inspector. He ran out of the office despite your efforts to bring him back. You’re phoning me to tell me this development in my brother’s behaviour. Did I miss anything?” I could almost _hear_ Mycroft’s smug smile.

“No, I guess not. Look, can you at least _try_ and act like a normal person, instead of an omnipresent pratt for five minutes? Possibly like you care about Sherlock and why he’s acting like he is.” I really wished he acted human when things like this happened. Sherlock was bad enough in a normal situation, but at least he had moments of acting human, Mycroft never seemed to break away from being an ‘ice man.’

“I can assure you that I am concerned for my brother, I’m just saving you the time of telling me his actions when I already know about them. I’m sure that is preferable to wasting time explaining things I already know about while my brother gets himself into trouble.” Mycroft answered, _smug bastard._

“Fair enough. Anyway, you have cameras and such in his flat, right? So you can watch what he’s up to?” I worried, hoping that that was still true. Sometimes, Mycroft’s meddling was frustrating to say the least, times like these though, it was a bit useful.

“Of course, they’re never turned off, unless Sherlock has ripped them out again, which he hasn’t, as I am watching a live feed of his flat right now.” Mycroft replied nonchalantly.

“Okay, okay, so are you going to be watching him? You know, just to make sure that he’s okay. Not, having, I don’t know... a Sherlock style freak out? Or going to the drugs again?” I wondered what a Sherlock styled freak out looked like, I’d seen him sulking, seen him high, but any other type, I was yet to see. And I knew he’d had them, John had described several, like with the Irene Adler thing, I’d never _seen_ them before. It worried me; he could do anything given the mood.

“Of course Inspector, I’m _always_ watching Sherlock. I assure you that he’s not going to have, as you put it, a ‘Sherlock style freak out’ he is coming home and returning to his bed, where he has been for days now. If he tries anything else, I have agents around 221b Baker Street who are ready to bring my brother to a safe place if he feels the need to go out and find drugs again, or anything of the sort. He’ll be just fine. Though, by all means go and visit him, bring him cases and such. But I doubt you’ll be getting him outside again, or at least not to places that involve Scotland Yard.” Mycroft was musing by the end.

“I can see the error of my ways there.” I agreed, with people like Donovan around, it wasn’t any wonder why Sherlock wasn’t happy to be out and about. Being verbally attacked all the time couldn’t have been easy, yet he’d managed just fine before, what was different now?

_John._ John wasn’t by Sherlock’s side to bypass it all. Usually he was there to tell him he was brilliant, to balance out the negative. But now that he wasn’t there, Sherlock didn’t have a buffer... Thinking about it, he was knocking about in that flat of his by himself all hours of the day. With nobody to talk to. That poor lad.

“Yes. I guess you probably can.” Mycroft commented, “Anyway, is there a reason for this phone call Inspector or are you just ringing up to tell me what I already know?”

“Er... No, no. I just, what are we going to do with him? He’s all over the place, I’m worried, we’re all worried. I think we need to try and get John back, because Sherlock needs him. He seemed a bit happier when John was visiting him, now he’s a bit, well... He’s a bit quiet and out of sorts.” I sighed, I didn’t like this. I wanted to fix it somehow, make Sherlock _better,_ just improve his life just slightly. Anything to make him feel better, to help that massive brain of his calm down so he could function normally.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea Inspector, Doctor Watson is a wild card currently. He could very well make my brother worse by coming back into his life.” Mycroft explained.

“Maybe, but it’s worth a shot. If we get Sherlock back, or just feeling a little better, hell, even _sleeping_ better. He’ll be so much more like normal. Don’t you want him to be normal?” I asked, surely Mycroft wanted his little brother to be happy?

“I’m afraid that’s the one thing my brother can’t have Inspector. Now I must go, goodbye.” The phone hung up, _what?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for all the comments/kudos, they're getting me through the tail end of this load of coursework and being a bit ill! :D


	43. Chapter 43

42 John's POV                                                         

“Greg, for the last time, no! I’m not going back to Sherlock again! I don’t care how bad he is right now, I’m not going back!” I shouted at the inspector, hating that he’d come over just to convince me to go and see Sherlock. I didn’t want to see the man ever again; I’d made that very clear to _everybody,_ why was _nobody_ listening to that?! Sherlock was out of my life for good, I wasn’t going back to him, not even Mycroft Holmes could make me go back to him. I’d rather he shoot me than go to see his little brother.

“John you don’t understand, Sherlock really needs you right now. More than ever before, he _needs_ you.” Greg tried again, looking desperate. He could keep on looking desperate for all I cared too; I was not stepping foot into Baker Street ever again.

“He’s not sleeping, or eating. He doesn’t talk much anymore either.” He explained.

“That’s how Sherlock always is. He lives off of thin air, and doesn’t talk for days on end. It’s not anything new, you should know that too, seeing as you’ve known him longer.” I glared at him, daring him to come up with something that may have possibly concerned me about Sherlock’s state. Medically, he was as well as ever, skinny and tired, but that was his natural state. There was nothing else wrong with him though, all wounds were patched up and healed over. Even if I did feel like going round to him, there was nothing I could _fix_ on him, there was nothing else needing to be fixed.

“But this is different John. You know he usually stocks up between cases, but he’s _not._ Mrs Hudson is cooking him everything under the sun and he’s barely touching it. He’s hiding under the covers but he’s not sleeping, when he is, he wakes up _screaming._ Sherlock Holmes, a man nearly as ice cold as his brother, is _screaming_ in his sleep. What does that tell you exactly? Because to me, that sounds like a man in horrendous pain.” Greg explained, holding onto my arm and forcing me to look at him, see the distress in his bloodshot eyes.

“How do you know that?” He couldn’t have known that, surely.

“When Mycroft told me last week that Sherlock can never be normal, I did a bit of digging okay? I went round a few days ago and caught him having a screaming fit. I knew then that he wasn’t sleeping much from that, he looked like he was in _agony._ The rest I’ve picked up from Mrs Hudson,” Greg started, “Please, just come over and see him. He needs a friend more than anything right now. I’m not good enough, neither is Mrs Hudson, and Mycroft is of no use whatsoever. He’s just so _different;_ I haven’t heard him insult any of my officers in months, not once. Donovan and Anderson keep on hurling the insults, and he’s doing nothing back. Not one comment. He’s not chasing after criminals; he’s giving us deductions and going home. It’s all he does now, turn up looking like hell, deduce, and go home. It’s worse than I’ve ever seen him before, and I’ve seen him high as a kite, and the year he was clean before he met you. Back then he was almost literally suicidal, now... I just don’t know what to think of his behaviour anymore.” Greg teared up a little as he spoke, pulling at my heart strings.

Could Sherlock really be _that_ bad? To the point where he wasn’t even insulting _Anderson,_ which had usually almost been a game to him? Surely not, this was _Sherlock_ we were on about; he was as stubborn as they came, hid everything and never told anyone anything. He never missed an opportunity to argue with someone and prove them wrong. He was screaming in his sleep too, _screaming_ in his sleep. Looking like he was in agony, Sherlock was never in pain...

“H-Has anybody else seen him? Can’t anybody else try to cheer him up?” I asked, surely there was _someone_ who could help more than me?

“Who else is there? He doesn’t have anybody, he’s _Sherlock._ He’s said it himself, he doesn’t have friends. He just has us. And while he may infuriate us on a regular basis and make us want to strangle him, we are the closest thing he will deem as friends. So we need to help him.” Lestrade answered with a sigh.

“What about Molly?” It was a _long_ shot, but Sherlock did actually like Molly, despite outward appearances. They seemed to have a good understanding of each other, could Molly possibly help before me?

“Molly can only give him dead body parts that he currently won’t touch. Or say the completely wrong thing as she usually does. The girl means well, we all know she does, but she does go to jelly around him.” Lestrade sighed again, “There’s you John. And that’s about it for Sherlock. I don’t think you realise just how much you changed him, you only saw a small glimpse of who he was before you, because he put on best behaviour for you at first. But you’ve never seen the man behind that. You’ve changed him far more than you can imagine, and he’s come to depend on you to be there with him. So, please, can you just come with me to see him?” Lestrade was practically begging me at this point.

“But what do you expect me to do Greg? He’s Sherlock, it’s not like he’s going to take one look at me and instantly turn round to his old self again is he? What do you think that I can do to him?” I honestly didn’t know what was expected of me right now.

“I don’t know if I’m honest, Mycroft thinks it’s a bad idea for some stupid reason. But he’s mostly sitting on his ass and doing nothing to help, while I’m actually trying something out. You’re the only plan I’ve got to help Sherlock in some way, because you’re the only one I’ve seen him truly take a liking to and change for. I don’t know what you do to him, but you do have a positive effect on him. So I was hoping for, I don’t know, maybe giving him the right person for company for a bit may help? Get him eating a bit, or at least out from that bed of his. I don’t really know, but it’s just worth a shot. I understand if you still don’t want to go, if you hate him that much. But please, as a friend to the both of you; just try it, just this once. If it doesn’t work, I won’t push it, but please, come with me. All I’m asking for is a few hours, not permanently moving back in again or anything like that. Please, just come with me.” Lestrade really was begging now, pleading with everything.

“Fine. I’ll go. But I’m not being held responsible for upsetting, or getting angry with him, alright? I’m still mightily pissed with him for all that crap he pulled on us two years ago.” I warned him, because I was not going to play nice if Sherlock didn’t. If the man was insistent on making me see it, it was on _my_ terms and I was allowed to get angry with him, no matter how fragile the man was right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the all the comments/kudos! I've now finished all my coursework, apart from a few revisions, so I've finally got time to do some writing again, HORRAY!


	44. Chapter 44

43 Sherlock's POV

When I got home, I didn’t bother taking off my coat or scarf, instead wrapped them around myself tighter and then pulled my duvet round as well. The weight of the duvet was comforting, made it feel like I could breathe a little better. _It’s just a substitute for the weighted blanket from childhood. The one you clung to after you found out about Redbeard, is this what happens every time you panic about the world?_ Shut up, it helped, the weight felt good. It was safe and solid, something I could rely on being real. Nothing felt _real_ at the moment, it was just so much _louder_ than I remembered, and so much harsher. But under this blanket, it felt real and soft, more like I was in control. I wanted nothing more than to be in control.

_Still means that you’re pathetic. You’re a grown man for God’s sake and you’re hiding underneath a blanket like a child, like **William,** you swore to never be William again. _I was not being William! William was a stupid little boy who let emotions get the better of him, Sherlock was crime solving machine with genius intellect and sociopathic behaviour. _Sherlock the machine is broken though isn’t he? William is coming back in. And the sociopathic behaviour was just that, just acted behaviour. There were emotions still in there. Another lie on top of all the others you’ve said over the years._

No, go away _please._ I wanted peace and quiet, that’s all. Couldn’t I have peace and quiet for just a little while? _No. Why should you get peace and quiet? You’ve gone from sociopathic crime solving machine to broken psychopathic murder who’s so caught up with emotions and feelings you can’t concentrate. Lestrade watched you run away today, that’s probably the last time he’s going to try with you now. Running off like that probably was the final nail in the coffin; you won’t ever work with Lestrade, or any police department, ever again. Mycroft was probably watching too you know, is probably watching now, as he **always** is. He’s going to see this and send someone over to take you away to the junk yard. Or to a prison, do you think you’d last in a prison, with all the murders you’ve put away? _

I shoved the pillow over my head, wishing for the voice to just _go away._ I’d had enough of hearing voices for the day, for the rest of my life! I wanted peace! _If it’s peace you want, maybe you should ask Mycroft to go easy on you, put you away in some psychiatric ward like before. Only this time, it won’t be for drug rehabilitation. You’ll never leave this time, no matter how badly you behave. They’ll see you’re a trouble maker and load you up on so many drugs you’ll barely be able to move a finger, let alone think. That’ll be peaceful won’t it? It’ll be like death, just with more sound and more white walls. Though if you don’t want that, you could always just get someone to shoot you. Won’t be too hard to find a willing shooter, there’s the entirety of Scotland Yard, millions of others who send death threats, what did that American who took Mrs Hudson say? Oh yes, if he shot you, he’d get a **medal.**_

Just shut up, please _stop talking._ I’d had enough now, completely had enough! I couldn’t take hearing anymore! I knew that I was a terrible person, that I’d done awful things. But it had been for the greater good! Taking down Moriarty’s web had saved countless lives along the way; the world was a safer place without those people in it! _You still killed. Shot, stabbed and burnt, snapped necks and crushed bones. You’re not much better than the people you killed. No matter what promise you made to yourself while you were out there._ It had to be done! It was all part of a plan! Fake my death, get rid of Moriarty’s web and come back safe in the knowledge that everybody was safe! It wasn’t... I promised myself that I’d come home and be better too, promised that I’d come home and be a nicer person, appreciate the people I loved most in this world more. No more treating them like inferiors, more like equals. Learn to joke with them, possibly even interact with them outside of work.

_And why would anybody want that with **you** exactly? You’re a horrible person to be around, you lie and manipulate and make everybody’s lives a misery. They’ve all said it. Every single last one. Lestrade feels like screaming when you walk into a room. Mrs Hudson hates the fighting and the wrecking of her flat, John hates all the human remains in the freezer and the way you treat him. Everybody you love only deems it necessary to act friendly with you so you don’t tear their lives to pieces with deductions and because they need you. Lestrade needs someone to help him solve cases, Mrs Hudson needs someone to pay her rent, and to repay her debt to you for dealing with her husband, and John just needed the adrenaline rush. Nobody actually wants to talk to you. Nobody has **ever** wanted to talk to you. Why do you think Mummy hasn’t called since you got back? Or why Molly hasn’t gotten in touch? _

I didn’t want to talk about it! I didn’t want to _think_ about it. I just, I just wanted to have five minutes peace. Just five damn minutes. Was it too much to ask for just five minutes? _Without drugs, yes, yes it is._

The sound of the front door opening startled my thoughts away for a few seconds. Who the hell was coming round now? Probably Mycroft, coming round to do as thought, take me away to some place ‘safer for me’ or whatever crap he was spewing this time. I didn’t care anymore either way. Maybe being kept in a padded cell, hooked up to many wonderful drugs that stopped me thinking would be good. It would certainly be better than hearing this voice constantly in my head, dealing with all these thoughts, all the paranoia, just all of it right now. I’d never had a completely clear head before; maybe it would make a nice change to the normal.

“He’s probably in the bedroom, like usual. So we should probably be a bit quiet, he’s edgy enough as it is without us coming in unannounced.” Lestrade? _Mycroft need’s back up. And it’s better to have the devil you know than the faceless men in his place._

Two steps of footsteps trailed down the corridor, one was definitely Lestrade’s. But the other wasn’t Mycroft; the footsteps were too light for that, and not as careful. _One of his men then. What makes you think he’d come down here himself and get his hands dirty?_

I stayed completely still as the footsteps got closer, feigning sleep or something similar, hoping to not be disturbed too much. Hopefully there would be a quick jab of a needle, a nice long sleep and then waking up in the padded cell without a thought in the world. _Or a nice gunshot and no thoughts ever again._ No, Lestrade was here, and while he may have hated me, I was sure he wouldn’t stay around to see me get shot.

The door creaked open, the footsteps shuffling in with slight hesitation.

“Well here he is... Sherlock, you awake down there lad? Got a special someone to see you here.” Lestrade put on a fake jokey tone. That tone had never ended well in my experience...

“Don’t care. Do whatever it is you want.” I figured they wanted permission before doing anything; Lestrade did have a lot of morals.

“Oh you will care. Come on, up you get! We did not travel all the way down here for you to hide in a cocoon!” Lestrade pulled away my duvet and pillow, the light blinding back into my eyes with no mercy.

“For God’s sake just get on with whatever it is with the minio- John?” I looked at the second person in the room and stopped dead. John?! What was John doing here?!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you for all the comments and kudos, it really does mean a lot!  
> If anybody wants to follow me on twitter, my screen name is @corruptedpov like it is on here, and my tumblr is effulgentcorruptedpov. :)


	45. Chapter 45

44 Sherlock's POV

John. John was here. John was here, _in my bedroom._ What... He couldn’t... I didn’t understand! Was this Lestrade’s doing?! If so, what was he thinking, making John come here?! Couldn’t he tell that the man did not want to be anywhere near me under any circumstances whatsoever?! This was a bad idea, a very, very bad idea. I really didn’t like where this was going...

“Er, why is my chair in here?” John noticed that his armchair was in the corner. What did I say to that?! I couldn’t give him the real reason it was here! _Yeah, telling him that you put it in here because you couldn’t stand it in the living room, but wanted it close to you is going to send him running for the hills!_ But what else could I say? What could I _do_? I wasn’t used to this, I wasn’t prepared for this! Had somebody told me this was going to happen? I didn’t remember being told about this, I’m sure I would have remembered it. _It’s all part of the plan to get rid of you. They all think that having John here will make you more cooperative._ Well it would, I’d do anything for him. If it made him happy, I’d do anything.

“Shall we talk about that a minute? That’s not exactly a conversation to have in a bedroom...” Lestrade was screaming awkwardness from being in my bedroom, though I wasn’t sure why. He’d been in here before during those faked drug busts; there still wasn’t anything special here. I didn’t even have an experiment going on in here. There was just me, furniture and clothes. Nothing to be awkward about.

He then sent John a look too, one I couldn’t decipher. _You’re losing it._ “Yeah, yeah, good idea that actually. I’ll... I’ll go put the kettle on, maybe get Mrs Hudson up to have a chat too?” John left the room in a rush.

“I better follow him. But, try and make the most this, okay? It took a lot to get John here; he’s still not sure about it, so try and go easy on him, yeah?” Lestrade patted my shoulder and left too. Go easy on him? What the _hell_ did that mean? Go easy on him doing what?! _Don’t mention the Fall, stupid. Or the time away. Or anything other topic like that. Actually, just try and be quiet, as John has said before, he always hears ‘punch me in the face’ when you talk. Don’t give him the ammunition._ So what did I do?!

_Put in some effort into being a normal human being. Try and look presentable, act like a normal person and try not to seem totally desperate at the idea that he’s here._ Right, right. Presentable, normal, not desperate human being. I could do that; sure I could do that... I could do that, right? _If you’re lucky._

I could do presentable, that was the easy bit. Shower, fresh clothes, style hair. Yes, easy enough. So, I raced into the shower, ignoring as best as I could every feeling of drowning, dying, or anything else my mind cooked up. Because I was in Baker Street, and John was outside. This wasn’t Serbia, or Korea, this was _Baker Street._ And _John was in the kitchen, making tea._ For the first time in nearly three years, I almost had all the full parts of normal life, could fool myself into thinking that the past two years hadn’t happened. The right people were in 221b (and Lestrade as a bonus addition) tea was being made; maybe Lestrade had a case for us! _Doubt it; you’re still getting taken somewhere far away from here. You’re not staying here for much longer. Just because John’s here for a limited time doesn’t mean you’re not broken._ But because he was here, I had a chance to fix things with him! If I fixed things with him, maybe he’d move back in, and maybe we could go on cases again! He’d help so much, like he did the first time he moved in.

_Just keep on believing that why don’t you? It’s not true, John isn’t staying, **you’re** leaving. You were so resigned on it half an hour ago. _But that was before John got here! _My God, you malfunction and get very stupid._ Shut up ruining my slightly good mood! I wanted to focus on the positives, not the negatives! _And part of the negatives is the reason why he’s here moron! It’s all a big plan, why can’t you see that Mr-You-Must-See-And-Observe._ Because I wanted to feel something like normalcy for _five minutes_ before I no doubt screwed it all up the minute I opened my mouth, alright?! Social interaction was not my strong point, but I wanted to pretend, for five minutes, that everything was going to be okay and I wasn’t going to screw this up monumentally.

I dried, dressed and styled my hair properly for the first time in weeks. If I was honest, I needed a haircut, but I was serviceable for a while longer. The suit was good too, fitted just right, wasn’t creased or anything. I felt like I had the correct armour on for once. Though I wished I could put my coat and scarf on too, just for a bit more protection, a little bit more shielding. But that would have looked too weird; I’d never walked around the flat with my coat on... I did wear dressing gowns though.

I raced back to my bedroom, pulling on my favourite blue gown. My heart rate slowed just a little at the familiar silk swirling around my body as I moved. The swirling was a comfort, the sound of it pleasing on the ears. If I could spend my life in long coated clothes, I’d be a happy man. _And a very, very childish one._ This was _not_ childish behaviour, this was, this was just me and what _I_ liked. _You’re finding comfort in clothes, like a child does with a teddy bear, after wrapping yourself up in a duvet for hours on end. You couldn’t be any more childish if you tried!_

I didn’t care; I really, really did not care. Childish or not, these little things made me feel comfortable in my own skin, something I had dearly missed, and was going to get me through this meeting with John. If I played my cards right, maybe I could actually talk to him, have an actual normal, civil conversation. It was what I craved the most in this world, so maybe, with the right tools, I could manage it. I just needed to stay calm and concentrate, focus on him, act as a person he’d like to talk to, and maybe, just maybe, I’d keep it together long enough to see the friend I’d missed by my side for nearly three years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments/kudos!  
> Again, twitter is @corruptedpov and tumblr is effulgentcorruptedpov, thanks to those who have messaged me there too, i greatly appreciate it all!


	46. Chapter 46

45 John’s POV

Lestrade positively grinned as Sherlock came out of his room, dressed in his usual suit-and-dressing-gown attire. The man looked nervous upon seeing us; ducking away from looking at me the second we made eye contact, making a bee-line for his violin and slinking to his chair like a cat. To me, he seemed perfectly normal, with exception to the bedroom stuff. Well, maybe not _perfectly_ normal, but since when was Sherlock _ever_ normal? He was, well, he was Sherlock. Rude, arrogant, prowling around everywhere without a care, lounging in his seat like he didn’t have a care in the world. So far, so much normalcy.

For a second, I wondered if this was just a rouse from Greg to get me over here so we’d reconcile and get back to normal. I could imagine that Sherlock would be terrorising the police force without me to filter him, but if what Greg said was actually true, well, I was probably not going to be needed to shut him up. Though, if he decided to gain some confidence to wind me up, I wasn’t going to stop telling him to watch his mouth, no matter what Greg said. So far I had no evidence that Sherlock wasn’t much of himself, he certainly looked fine enough to me. Just like he did the day he ju- no. I was not thinking of _that_ day, especially not here.

“Oh hello! I brought tea and biscuits for this little meeting. Isn’t it nice to be all back together again? I’ve missed seeing you three together, putting together that crime solving genius!” Mrs Hudson bustled into the room, placing the tray down on the coffee table. “I’ll just leave you to it; you’ve probably got a lot to talk about.” She turned to leave.

“No, no stay Mrs Hudson. You won’t be interrupting.” I stopped her, needing back up in this. The more people, the better in this meeting. Anyone to limit the amount of time I spent talking to Sherlock, because even after Greg’s explanation of the past few months, I still didn’t want to be here. Sherlock had still lied to me for two years, still made me watch him die; I wasn’t going to forget that. Or forgive him for it, not until he made the effort to prove that he was sorry.

“Oh there’s no room for me to sit though!” Mrs Hudson glanced around, noting that my chair was still not back in the front room. I still wanted to know why that was in Sherlock’s room actually, though at the same time, was there a reason that I actually wanted to know?

“Take my chair; I can sit on the arm.” Sherlock moved to sit on the arm of the sofa. Well, that was new. He’d have never given up his seat for anybody in his life; the only chance anybody got to sit in his precious chair was when he wasn’t in it. For example, when he was sat at the table, doing his numerous experiments.

“Oh thank you dear.” Mrs Hudson sat on the coveted chair, making sure to give Sherlock room to put his foot up on the seat. I noticed that he’d left his shoes off, and socks for that matter. That was not particularly normal for him either. He was always ready to leave the house at a seconds notice, was he not planning on leaving, despite our presence?

“So... How have you been?” Lestrade started the conversation, shifting next to me; apparently he hadn’t come up with a conversation topic for us to go over.

“Fine I guess... Are there any cases on at the yard?” Sherlock asked, fiddling with his violin. He seemed to be tuning it, if Lestrade was telling the truth in the fact he hadn’t touched his violin in months, then _why_ exactly was he happily fiddling with it now?!

“Just the mundane ones I’m afraid. Easily solvable, you’d find it beyond boring.” Greg smiled; apparently he was enjoying seeing Sherlock. Why I didn’t know, currently it felt like he wasn’t involved in the conversation, barely paying attention to us in favour of his violin... Not much change there then.

“London’s criminals are taking a break from creativity.” Sherlock sighed, “H-How are you doing John? Is the clinic work okay?” Sherlock didn’t deem me important enough to look at, finding it far more fun to pluck a string on that damn violin. All this time ‘pining’ for me and now he couldn’t even bother to look at me?! _Seriously?!_ What the hell was this?!

“Fine.” I gritted out, willing myself to stay calm, for Greg and Mrs Hudson’s sake. I’d promised to keep calm for Greg, and Mrs Hudson has never enjoyed conflict. I just had to keep cool for them, no matter what Sherlock was doing. _It could be worse, he could be deducing and insulting along the way._

“Good. That’s good.” Sherlock nodded.

Everything went silent. An awkward silence dropping like a leaden weight in the room, nobody having any idea on what to say now. There was a glaringly obvious elephant in the room, The Fall, but nobody was going to bring _that_ up. There was so much left unsaid, so little explained, so much up in the air without any way to safely talk about it.

I felt like shouting from the rooftops to just explain _why_ it happened, why Sherlock fell from that damn roof! I wanted to _know_ what he was doing right now, why he was just so _calm_ about it all! After spending two years away playing hide and seek, gallivanting around the world with careless abandon until he sort fit to come back, he could at least explain why he left.

But I couldn’t bring it up, it hurt to think about the day, all the pain I had experienced because of him. It still hurt to think about it, so no matter how badly I wanted to get some sort of answers, I knew that Sherlock wouldn’t give me a straight answer anyway. The man never did. So there was no point in asking him what happened. I’d probably have to get the twat drunk before I got anything out of him. That fucking self control he had was _unbreakable._

“Oh you’ve got the violin out again, how about if you play us something?” Mrs Hudson eventually spoke up, all of us jumping.

“Yeah, play us something lad, it’s been far too long since we’ve heard you play!” Lestrade leant forward.

“The violin isn’t tuned; I can’t play anything right now.” Sherlock plucked another string.

“Ah. Maybe next time then.” Lestrade leant back, quiet falling over us again.

What the hell could we actually talk about?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments/kudos, they really cheer me up when I'm not feeling well!


	47. Chapter 47

46 Sherlock's POV                                         

I didn’t know what to do right now, I felt so unsure of what to say. I couldn’t talk about falling off St Bart’s and pretending to be dead, it would end this meeting quicker than I could finish a sentence. John didn’t want to hear about it, he’d told me before that he didn’t want to hear it. So I couldn’t just bring it up selfishly like that. Especially when he was glaring at me as he was, talking through gritted teeth, hands clenched so tight his knuckles were white. He _really_ didn’t want to be here, _and it’s all your fault. If you hadn’t have jumped off a roof and played dead, this wouldn’t be happening. If the plan you made actually worked out like your stupid emotionless brain had figured, none of this would be happening._

Well a lot would be different if things worked the way they were supposed to!

“Hey, it’s not your fault; you’ve been busy recently with cases. Probably had no time to tune it.” Lestrade put his hand out in placation. I hadn’t just said that out loud, had I?

“No... Not much time at all.” _Liar. You’ve had **plenty** of time to fiddle with it uselessly. But you haven’t touched it, have you? In case you disturb anyone, push them over their edge of patience and tolerance. Then you really will be alone. _

“Well how about you tune it now, while we talk? There’s no reason not to.” Lestrade continued, _he’s talking to you like you’re a child. Because that’s how he see’s you now, a child. One who will scream and meltdown at any second. Remind you of anything, possibly Mummy and Daddy?_

I gritted my own teeth against the chatter in my head, forcing myself to focus on the instrument in my hands. The vibration felt nice, the feeling of the strings under my fingertips. It was a calming feeling, like having the dressing gown on too; it was... it felt _good_ for once, like there was something I understood in the situation, something I could do instead of talking.

Social situations had _never_ been my strong suite, but this felt worse. I was scared to say anything, in case it was the wrong thing to say. There was so much I _wanted_ to say but couldn’t. Explanations as to why I jumped, how I managed it, the whole two years away. Apologies for every single second John spent thinking I was dead, for making him endure that phone call, making him watch. But I couldn’t say a word of it, in case I scared him off and changed his mind about ever seeing me again. He was barely even in his seat as it was, one wrong word and I was going to never get him back here again.

_The fact he’s here in the first place is a miracle, anybody else in his situation would have stayed so far away from you, they couldn’t have gotten any further._ I knew that. That’s why it was just best that I stayed quiet, not saying anything about the events leading up to this. Or anything about the fact he hadn’t slept well in a while, had increased his clinic hours even further, or lost three pounds since I last saw him. _Deductions don’t make friends._ No, they didn’t. I’d learnt that the hard way over many years. _Which is why you promised yourself to be a better person while you were away, so you were nicer to others and possibly make friends._ Which was why I was being silent, I couldn’t wind people up that much while I wasn’t talking to them. And I wasn’t stimming either, keeping my hands busy with the violin, and keeping my comfort objects near too. All of it, just to try and be normal, try and keep some of the connections I had. _So you’re not alone/sent away to the nut house/decommissioned/ thrown away/imprisoned. The list goes on._ Yeah. That.

“Sherlock? Did you just hear me?” I snapped back into the room as Mrs Hudson put her hand on my arm.

“Huh?” I hadn’t realised a conversation was still going on around me... _like usual then. Haven’t you said before that everybody is on semi-permanent mute?_

“I was just saying that Mycroft has been round playing some board games with you, hasn’t he?” Mrs Hudson prompted, giving me an encouraging look.

“Yes, he has. I’m still reigning champion of Operation.” I nodded, why was she talking about Mycroft? How did he come up in conversation?! And how did board games come in to it? Had it been because the chess board was still out on the table? Must have been...

“Wow, the Ice Man isn’t so steady handed, surprising.” Lestrade made me wince.

Moriarty called Mycroft the Ice Man; we’d never called him that before. But he had, he’d called him Ice Man and me Virgin, probably to mock us both, though I’d never really cared about that nickname for me. It was better than Freak. But still, I didn’t like the reminder of the mad man who’d put me in this situation.

**_BOOM._ **

**_The gun appeared out of nowhere, Moriarty stuffed it into his mouth and shot, the sound reverberating through the air as he fell to the floor with a small thud. He'd shot himself, nothing could call off the snipers, everyone was in danger, I had to jump._ **

 “He... He doesn’t like to be called that.” I whispered, wincing against the memory, forcing it back into its locked box in the Mind Palace dungeon. I was not thinking about Moriarty’s suicide, I was distinctly not going think about it. This was home, I was home, it was all over. _It’s not though, is it? Not a day goes by where you don’t think about it._ Will you just shut up for five damn minutes?!

“Sherlock that’s not nice!” Mrs Hudson chastised me, I hadn’t... I didn’t mean to say that out loud!

“We best be off anyway actually. Early starts in the morning and all that. See you around Mrs Hudson, Sherlock.” Lestrade pulled a _very_ angry John out the room, the words ‘calm down, he didn’t mean it,’ leaving behind him.

_Now look what you’ve done. Scared them off, after doing **so** well too. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all the comments/kudos again, they honestly really mean so much. I've just checked the subscriber list on this - there's 110 of you! That's insane! Thank you all so much for that!  
> Quick reminder too that you can tweet me @corruptedpov and find me on tumblr effulgentcorruptedpov, and if you're at all interested, I also vlog on youtube under the name mydreamsofwriting! :)


	48. Chapter 48

47 Lestrade’s POV

“John, he didn’t mean it! John wait!” I ran to catch up to him, grabbing the angry man’s arm and dragging him back.

“I don’t want to hear it Lestrade! He _always_ means it Lestrade, _always._ Don’t try and tell me he doesn’t!” John growled, yanking his arm away from mine.

“He’s... He’s not well John, it’s not his fault. Sherlock’s, well, you saw him; he’s not okay right now. We rushed him there, didn’t prepare him for that, he got stressed out.” I tried to explain, but John was having none of it.

“What I saw in there was Sherlock being Sherlock in any other typical social situation. He ignored us all until he had had enough, where he then just told us to shut up. Just like always.” John argued, practically shaking with his anger.

“No, you don’t understand, he’s not well. That wasn’t a good representation of him at the moment, he was better with you there. You know how he is, he likes having the same faces around, we’ve talked about his Aspergers before, you know he likes having the same faces with him. So he saw you and improved, because he felt safer because _you_ were there.” I explained, I’d seen the change in Sherlock so clearly. The minute he’d seen John he’d gotten better, there’d been _life_ in Sherlock, because he’d been more comfortable because John was with him.

“Yet he told us all to be quiet after ignoring us most of the time! Lestrade you’re not seeing straight, you’re still in Sherlock-land! He draws you in and then nothing he says or does seems wrong! He insults you practically hourly and to you that seems completely normal! You’re defending him but you _shouldn’t._ He’s a complete asshole, and you can’t even see it!” John sighed; his opinion had dropped so low, I was starting to doubt that we could ever get him to come round to Sherlock’s side.

It was going to take something serious to get him to believe us when we said that Sherlock wasn’t well, he really _was not_ well. But he improved when John was there, how could he not see the influence he had on our consulting detective?

But, I decided to leave it for the day, knowing I wouldn’t get anywhere with John right now. He was _furious;_ maybe waiting until he’d cooled down would work...

“Alright, I’ll see you around.” I sighed, shoving my hands in my pockets.

“As long as you keep from talking about Sherlock, because I do _not_ want to hear it.” John turned and left.

“Molly, please, you’re my last chance here!” I begged the nervous girl a few days later; because there was nobody else I could think of who could be there for Sherlock. The man didn’t exactly lend himself to friendship with others, Mrs Hudson was already just downstairs, I did no good with him, and Mycroft was of _no_ help, so that left Molly. Molly, who fancied the pants off Sherlock, yet hadn’t seen him since he’d returned.

“I don’t know Greg, he’s... you said he’s not well. You’ve _all_ said he’s not well. I don’t want to intrude, or make things worse.” Molly shook her head, pulling off her gloves and chucking them in the bin.

“You won’t be intruding, no matter what Sherlock says. He’s in need of some friends, and you are his friend, and he respects you more than most. So please, just go along, ask him out, just get him out of the house, or with some company.” I watched her tense.

“Ask him out? I’m engaged, I can’t do that!” Molly widened her eyes as she said it.

“What? No, no, not like that! I don’t mean ask him out like that! Sorry, I meant just ask him to go out as a friend. Go for a meal, for a walk, _something._ He just needs to get out of that flat of his, hell, invite him to watch an autopsy! He just needs the company, and I’ll be _so_ grateful if you did. It’ll help him, or at least give him some company, or a break from that mind of his at least.” I begged her, I was not above begging on my hands and knees, I was _that_ desperate for Sherlock to have some sort of break from himself. He worried me more now than he did before he even met John, when I was certain that he’d been suicidal. Now I didn’t have a clue what he was going to do, and with Sherlock, that was _terrifying._

“Okay, okay I’ll do it. I’ll go round this weekend. But, what if I mess up? What if I make him worse?” Molly bit her lip.

“You’ll be fine Molly. Just take him out for a bit, I’d be entirely grateful if you did.” I hugged her in thanks, hoping that she would have some sort of positive effect on him. If not, I didn’t have a clue on what to do to help him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is only short!   
> Thanks again for all the kudos/comments, they still mean a lot, I love hearing everything you have to say about this fic!


	49. Chapter 49

48 Sherlock's POV

“Sherlock, you really must learn to be more tolerant of others talking. John and Lestrade were being lovely just then, and we were all having a really good time, why did you have to spoil it?” Mrs Hudson sighed at me, getting up and starting to pick up the plates and teacups from the table.

“I, I wasn’t, I didn’t mean it.” I hung my head in shame; I hadn’t meant to say it to John, nor Lestrade. I just wanted that _voice_ to stop talking for five minutes, that’s all. I just wanted it to stop talking, was that too much to ask? I had just wanted to hear only one version of John’s voice, the one in the room, not the one in my head. _Too bad, it’s not happening. There was a time you **wanted** me here, wasn’t there? When you were all alone, nobody to talk to, not even a skull to bounce ideas off of. You’d wanted the voices then. _But that was because I needed to focus! With John’s voice, I could focus; I’d needed it then, not now. Especially when I had the real John in front of me too.

“Well it wasn’t very nice. I’ll put it down to the fact that you were stressed by the sudden invasion, but do apologise to John and Lestrade the next time you see them, okay? They were only trying to be nice; they didn’t deserve to be told to shut up.” Mrs Hudson lectured me before leaving the room and heading back to her own flat. _That’s if you get to see them again. Thin ice Sherlock, very thin ice, and its cracking._

I sighed to myself and moved to curl up on the chair, plucking at my violin strings sadly and wondering why that had all just happened. I didn’t understand why Lestrade had brought John round here again, not when the man was still so resistant to seeing me, or being anywhere near me for that matter. What was the point of bringing him here? It couldn’t have been a feeble attempt to make John forgive me, could it? Why would that be a priority for Lestrade? _Because you’re currently being incredibly annoying and too broken for him to fix. Maybe he thinks that John, a **doctor** could fix you, like he did before. _Possibly.

Still though, why was Lestrade so sure I could be fixed? Was he even trying to fix me? Or did he just want his crime solving machine back? _Think about it genius. Does he ever look pleased to see you at non-crime related events? No. Because you insult him, tell him his wife is having an affair, and generally make his life hell. What he said about him wanting to scream every time you entered a room still stands you know, if not more so now. He only brought John to see if he could fix you a little bit, so you can carry on working for him. And possibly make you more tolerable to be around. There was no other advantage to him coming here with John like this. If he tries again, do your best to act **normal,** maybe then you’ll escape whatever cell Mycroft has planned for you. _

 I’d remember that the next time Lestrade came round, with or without John in tow. Though, I was hopeful John would come with him, if anything just to prove that I could be nice and civil to him, unlike today. In my defence though, I had tried to play nice with him, hadn’t even mentioned any deductions I’d had about him not sleeping recently, or anything else I’d read. I’d been polite to him too, and hadn’t talked too much. That was what polite people did, wasn’t it? _Probably, you wouldn’t know though, now would you? You deleted all those lessons in being polite and kind years ago. Just after Redbeard died._ I didn’t want to remember Redbeard right now!

_Too bad. This is a similar situation though isn’t it? You got sent away and lost your best friend._ But John hadn’t died. _No, instead he went on to hate your guts for being a dickhead to him. That’s as good as dead, especially with the way he was looking at you just then as he left. He’s probably having a very angry talk with Lestrade right now, telling him to **never** bring him back here again. _

My thoughts were almost confirmed a week later when nobody else had been round, apart from Mycroft, who had played a token game of scrabble before leaving again. Lestrade didn’t even text, let alone come round. John, well, there was just no way John was turning up here again, not after that outburst. I’d all but given up on ever having another social interaction with someone other than my brother or my land lady when Molly turned up.

She’d come in incredibly shyly, wringing her hands with nerves, barely whispering a ‘hello’ upon entry. I’d immediately wanted to blurt out ‘why are you here?’ but decided against it, figuring it wouldn’t be very nice, especially when she was that nervous.

“Lestrade isn’t here if you want to see him, or John. And I’m not working any cases at the moment.” I’d said instead, because what else was there to say? It wasn’t like this was a _planned_ visit, or like I’d come along to the lab for something. I really didn’t know _what_ was going on again... why were so many people intent on visiting me like this?!

“I-I’m not here for a case. I came, well... I came because I wanted to ask if you’d like to have dinner, with me? Not that you have to or anything, I was just, wondering if you’d like to, get out the flat and... yeah.” Molly tripped over her explanation, I didn’t understand.

“You’re engaged though.” There was an engagement ring on her finger, that had been there for at least six months, judging by the lack of scratches and the shine on it. Why was she asking me for dinner, like she had done when single?

“Huh? Oh yeah, Tom proposed six months ago, he’s really nice and I’ve met his family, he’s, well, he’s my fiancé.” Molly blushed, playing with the ring on her finger, “100% normal, not sociopathic, or psychopathic. Just normal. Not even a genius.”

“Congratulations.” I nodded dumbly, “Good on you, moving onto the normal population. Safer that way.” _Nobody dates unfeeling **freaks** like you. _

“Yeah, I think I have a type,” Molly blushed deeper, “Anyway... Dinner? Want to go?”

“But you’re engaged.” I didn’t understand, Molly was proposing going on a date, but she was engaged. I hadn’t put her down as the cheating type...

“Yes, but I was asking to go to dinner... Oh, I didn’t mean a date! No, I just meant as a friend! Nothing more! Sorry, sorry I should have made that clear! I just thought that, well, we haven’t seen each other in a while, nearly three years actually, so maybe we could have a catch up? As friends, ‘cause that’s what friends do sometimes.” Molly wrung her hands again, running all of her words together to get out her explanation. _She doesn’t want to date you anymore; she’s disgusted with what you’ve done._ No, she was engaged, that’s why she didn’t want to date me.

_Molly feels sorry for you, that’s why she’s asking._

“Did Lestrade ask you to do this?” I raised an eyebrow, after John’s appearance, maybe he was going through everybody we knew?

“No... Yes, yeah, he did. Well, he asked if I wanted to, but he didn’t force me or anything. I’ve been meaning to see you again, but, you’ve been busy and not like yourself,” We both winced at that, “That’s not what I meant, sorry, I meant that-”

“I know what you meant. It’s okay, I know I haven’t been as normal.” I waved her off, Molly was Molly, she sometimes said the wrong thing at the wrong time. I knew that feeling.

“So, will you come to dinner? Your choice of place and everything!” Molly smiled.

_Do not go, you will screw everything up. And I mean **everything** with yet **another** person. Do you want to completely and utterly alone?!_

“If you insist.” I agreed, maybe I’d be better with Molly. She was rather understanding, and if anything, I could at least have a practice of being more normal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for all the comments and kudos, they do really mean the world and spur me on whenever I get stuck writing this! :)


	50. Chapter 50

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey so updating once every 3 days isn't working out for me at the moment, because maths has never been my strong point and apparently counting in threes is enough to make my head spin, so would it be okay if I changed the update days to Wednesday, Friday and Sunday?

49 Sherlock's POV

As soon as I said it, I regretted ever agreeing to going out with Molly for dinner. It was a _terrible_ idea, an absolutely awful one, why did I ever agree to it? I didn’t... I wasn’t _good_ with conversation, I screwed it up royally, talked about the wrong things, missed the point of conversation completely. I’d do it again and scare Molly away, just like I had done with John and Lestrade. I couldn’t send Molly away with my stupidity, or with just how _different_ I was now as well! There had to be just the one friendship I could keep intact, hadn’t there? Just _one_ relationship with a person that I could keep? Molly deserved respect, especially after all she did for me before I fell, and afterwards too, she deserved some respect for her actions. I couldn’t give her the respect she deserved, I’d screw it up again, alienate her from me too. The least I could do was not be rude to her.

_Good chance that happening, not! You’re rude to **everyone,** no exceptions. Even when you try to be nice, it fails. _

“I, I’m sorry, I just realised that I can’t. I’m, er, I’m busy.” I lied, _just get the girls hopes up and dash them again. Clever that._

“Oh, I didn’t realise... Well it doesn’t have to be tonight, we can go another time.” Molly still remained hopeful.

 I didn’t understand why, really, what was so special about me that she wanted to actually have dinner with me? As in, sitting down and _talking_ with me for a forced amount of time. Really, what was the point, what made me so special and desirable for that activity? _Probably because she’s acting as Lestrade’s spy, checking in on you, making notes, collecting evidence for a psych ward._ For God’s sake if everybody was so obsessed with that idea then they should just get on with it! I’d go happily, I really would. _At least there the drugs would be hooked up to you without repercussion. Wouldn’t that make Mummy, Daddy and Mycroft proud?_

“No, it’s not a good time. There’s not a good time to be had with _dinner,_ I’m... It’s just not good okay? I’m not a good... dinner just doesn’t _work_ around me.” I started pacing, tugging at my hair with the frustration of it all. The anxiety at the idea of going out to dinner with someone was getting to me, made worse by the idea of being spied on for something I knew was becoming inevitable, and would happily go with no fight. But now I’d agreed to go with her, but I _couldn’t,_ because I’d be undeservedly rude as always and not mean it, possibly wouldn’t even be talking to her when saying horrible things, but I couldn’t explain that because it sounded _insane_ that if I was being rude, it wasn’t to her, it was to the John inside my head. I couldn’t come up with a good reason to say no now, or get out a sentence without having to rework it so I didn’t sound completely off my rocker. It was _infuriating._

“Okay, okay. Sherlock, its okay, don’t get angry. We can figure something out... This isn’t because of that Irene woman is it? Because she kept on asking you to dinner.” Molly came closer a few steps, blocking my path so I had to stand still as I winced at the mention of The Woman. “I-I’m not asking for _that,_ not at all. Because I know you’re not like that, you’re... Well, you’re you.” _That means that you’re a freak and she really **does not** want to sleep with you. Ever. _“I honestly just meant dinner, as in the meal, as friends. So we can catch up, or just have a good time.” I couldn’t even reply as Molly tugged my hands away from my hair, holding my wrists between us.

_I was yanked up by my bound hands, pulled in close to my captor’s face, his rank breath assaulting my nostrils._

_“I said. What. Are. You. Doing. Here? I want to know!” He shouted in angry German._

_“I got lost in the woods, okay?! I was lost and I stumbled upon your bunker and went inside for warmth!” I lied, being shoved to the floor and kicked in the ribs for my trouble._

_“Liar! Tell me the truth!” Another kick landed to my ribs, only half protected by my tied arms._

_“I was lost! I came here because I was lost and needed the warmth!” I cried out as I was dragged upright again by other guards, holding me in place._

_“Hold him still.” The main captor continued to shout his questions, hitting me over and over as he did so. And no matter what I said, he didn’t stop, he just **wouldn’t** stop, hitting over and over and over until I couldn’t breathe and passed out._

“Let me go! Don’t touch me!” I yanked away from her, forcefully reminding myself that it was _Molly,_ not the gang leader in Germany.

“Sherlock, it’s okay. It’s only me.” Molly stepped forward, placating arms out. But I didn’t see her concern; I saw her hatred, her _fear_ of me. _She’s going to take you down and lock you up! No questions asked, no nice patient places. A dark, cold cell. Like Serbia._  I had to get away from her! I couldn’t, I couldn’t go back, I couldn’t go back to that. Never again, not ever again!

I stumbled over something and fell to the floor, scrambling backwards as far as I could, desperately trying to remember to breathe. _They’re coming to get you Sherlock! Nobody is going to save you now, you’re going to be captured again and taken to a dark cell and **never** be allowed back out again! You saw how she held you then; she wants to get rid of you! _

“Sherlock,” Molly said again, taking one step too close.

“No! Get away from me! Stay away!” I shoved her away and ran into my room, slamming the door closed and locking it, dragging a chair in front of it to make sure it stayed closed. _Now you’ve done it. You’re now **trapped** in a locked room with nowhere to go. They’ll come for you now, they’ll come and take you away to that dark cell and let you **rot** like a piece of meat. _

No, no, I didn’t want to go away! I wanted to stay, I didn’t want to go anywhere anymore, I changed my mind!

_Too late now. You’re going down to the dark cells they keep the psychopaths, where you belong. Nobody will help you now._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the comments again, they do really mean SO much. I've had a bit of a tough week this week writing wise, due to a few put downs from other sources which really gave me a confidence knock, and so much homework I haven't had time to write anything for this or my other fic I've got going on. Reading your comments made me smile and really cheered me up though, so thank you, you're all awesome!


	51. Chapter 51

50 Lestrade's POV

I was in the middle of paperwork when I got a phone call from Molly. I’d completely forgotten that she’d gone to see Sherlock today, and hadn’t really been expecting her to phone so early. It filled me with a sense of dread over what had happened, it couldn’t be good if I was getting a phone call _now._

“Everything alright Molly?” I asked as I answered the call, immediately hearing the sound of crying. “Molly, what’s happened?” I stood up, grabbing my warrant card and such things, just in case I was in need of them.

“He, Sherlock... I don’t know what I did, he just, he panicked and now there’s all these people here and they’ve... I think they’ve knocked him out, there was so much _screaming_ and now it’s quiet and I don’t know what’s going on!” Molly explained tearfully, her voice shaking.

“Shit, I’m coming right now. Just _stay there_ okay? Don’t let them leave with Sherlock, or do anything to him. Just stay with him, and ring me again if Mycroft turns up, no doubt this has something to do with him.” I started to head out of the office.

“Mycroft is already here, it’s his men with Sherlock.” Molly made me swear again. That bloody man got in the way of _everything._

“I’ll be there in ten minutes, do _not_ let them take Sherlock anywhere, and if you can’t stop them, find out where they’re going.” I ordered, running out of the office and racing to Baker Street. Never before had I been so happy to drive a police car, so I could put on the siren and breeze through the unusually light London traffic to Baker Street, which was _swarming_ with blacked out cars. Molly was outside, shivering with nerves and emotion.

“I’m sorry Greg, I don’t know what I did, he just... I must have said something and it scared him, I’m so sorry!” Molly cried upon seeing me.

“It’s not your fault Molly; you were just trying your best, okay? Don’t blame yourself. Now where is Sherlock? Or Mycroft for that matter? I need to see them both.” I reassured her, Molly pointing upstairs, “Great, now why don’t you go and have some tea with Mrs Hudson, yeah? I’ll sort all of this out, you go and calm yourself with her, okay?” I figured that the poor land lady would be a bundle of nerves over this too, better to put the two together to keep them both busy while I sorted out this.

I ran up the stairs to find Mycroft standing in the middle of Sherlock’s bedroom, where the man himself was being hauled into some secret agent of other’s arms, probably to be carried off somewhere.

“Whoa there, what the hell is going on?” I stopped the process, taking in Sherlock’s grey skin, he looked like a corpse, especially as he wasn’t moving, “Please tell me you did not just drug your brother unconscious so you could move him somewhere without a fuss.” It sounded like something Mycroft would do, judging by some of Sherlock’s groaning in the past, something about his brother being a pompous ass who’d happily just drug him so it was easier to drag him somewhere ‘safe.’

“Ah, Detective Inspector, I was expecting you to arrive when Miss Hooper called you.” Mycroft smiled that usual smug smile, like this was completely and utterly normal, or like that the whole situation wasn’t about his own _little brother._

“Well someone has to come and stop this madness before you whisk Sherlock off somewhere you deem safe, even if he doesn’t want to go.” I glared at the government official.

“He may not want to go, but it is needed Inspector. As you already know, my brother is rather mentally ill at this moment, and I think we all know its best that he gets treatment for his issues now before they escalate even further.” Mycroft said with that same pompous tone as usual, like us mere mortals were all stupid and he was going to do whatever he wanted, with or without our permission.

“I’m not saying that he isn’t ill and doesn’t need help. But surely you don’t have to take him away for this? You need to _talk_ to him first, ask what _he_ wants, instead of taking charge like you always do. It only stresses him out further.” I hated the idea of just taking Sherlock away, forcing him away from his friends and his flat, all of his comfort items, it just didn’t _work_ with him. As I’d said to John, he had Aspergers, taking him from the things that made him feel safe and cutting contact with people he knew and trusted only would make him worse. Why wasn’t Mycroft thinking of that?

“What my brother wants is for all of his problems to go away, I’m giving him that, because he is far too stubborn to ask for help himself. I can’t let him continue on this path, especially after today’s episode, so I’m taking over and giving Sherlock the help he needs. Now move out of the way of the door Inspector, we need to get moving before he wakes up and causes another scene.” Mycroft used that tone by the end that just dared me to disobey. And disobey I did.

“No! I won’t let you just take him like this; he’s a person Mycroft, a person with feelings. You can’t just do this to him all the time, just because _you_ don’t want a scene to be made. Do you ever stop and consider Sherlock’s thoughts and wishes on the matter? Or let him explain his apparent oh-so-terrible actions? Just let him wake up and explain why he did whatever he did, _and then_ go from there. Don’t just take him, please, you can’t just take him.” I was nearly pleading; I didn’t want Sherlock to go anywhere.  I loved the kid, and I was sure he meant well in his actions, even though he was misguided a lot of the time. If he’d done something, then he could explain, he just had to be allowed to _explain._

“I’m guessing Miss Hooper didn’t tell you what happened then.” Mycroft sighed, like this was tedious, “My brother experienced what was described by Miss Hooper was a ‘breakdown’ though I suspect she meant flashback. He thought that she was someone else, someone he encountered and had a bad experience with during his time away, which panicked him a rather large amount. Now he wasn’t violent with her, but he could have well been. This will probably happen again, and if it does, we cannot know if Sherlock will grow violent during an episode, so it is best we take him away and treat him _before_ he hurts someone. He’s already feeling bad enough as it is, we best fix him now before he has the guilt of hurting someone he loves on top of everything else. Now will you move from the door and let me look after my brother like I was originally going to do?” Mycroft raised an eyebrow; I gave in and nodded, moving out the way. I couldn’t argue with that reasoning, if Sherlock really was in danger of hurting someone, or himself, he needed help.

“Fine, but _only_ because I don’t want him hurting anyone. And you better tell us where he is so we can see him, so he knows he’s not alone, got it? And for God’s sake, take some of his things with him, to keep him half way to calm.” I glared at the man again, because even though I was letting him take over, he wasn’t going to take Sherlock from us, not completely.

“You’re acting like I don’t know how to take care of my own brother Inspector; I’ll have you know I know him better than anybody else claims to. I shall tell you where he ends up, but currently I’m letting a trusted doctor take a look at him, where we’re all deciding _together_ what is going to happen next.” Mycroft smirked at me, like he’d gained the upper hand, just because he revealed he was consulting Sherlock on what to do with himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say THANK YOU SO MUCH to everybody who left a comment on the last chapter, your lovely words blew me away and I'm still in a bit of a shock at all the nice things you all said! You've really put the smile back on my face and given me so much confidence again. THANK YOU!


	52. Chapter 52

51 Sherlock's POV

I woke up screaming, racing upright and into the far corner before I even realise what I was doing, heaving in breath to calm the sick feeling in my stomach.

“Whoa, whoa, it’s okay Sherlock. You’re going to be okay, you’re safe here.” A voice had me whirling around to face it.

Mycroft was sat calmly in a chair, watching me with his analytical gaze, reading _everything_ I did with hawk eyes. Another man was next to him. **Doctor. Mid-fourties. In profession for several years. Mental health specialties, not traditional medicine.** What the hell? _You’re being committed, stupid. After that display in front of Molly, what did you expect?_

“Sherlock, do you know where you are?” The doctor held his hands up in innocence.

**Wooden walls. Fireplace. Lack of photos, though lived in.** “Mycroft’s house. Why am I here? And who are you?” I didn’t recognise him, and I’d seen a lot of different psychologists and therapists in my life.

“Because you had another meltdown, in front of Miss Hooper as well. I’ve decided to take matters into my own hands and get you the help you need before something regrettable happens.” Mycroft sighed like it was all far too much hassle for him to deal with.

_Taking matters into his own hands, you’re **so** getting committed. White, padded cells and all the drugs you could wish hooked up to your arm here we come! _

“And don’t think you can escape, there are guards at the door.” Mycroft sighed again with an eye roll.

“Er, I don’t think that’s a good idea to say Sir.” The doctor stopped him... Nobody usually got away with something like that to _Mycroft._ “I understand that you’re scared Sherlock, but we do just want to talk, because you did scare your friends back there with that display.”

_He’s condescending you, acting like you’re a **dangerous murderer,** because that’s what you are. They’re not going to listen to word you say and just send you away because you can’t look after yourself. _

“ _Sure_ you just want to talk. When’s the van turning up to take me away to the psych ward which I’m probably never going to be allowed out of? And don’t try to placate me with the ‘it’s for your own good’ rubbish because I’ve _been_ here before. Just try and pack my skull and violin this time, and pick a place with the least itchy uniforms.” I fell onto the bed again, not even bothering to fight. What was the point in fighting the inevitable? I’d tried before, I’d failed miserably before, Mycroft got his way every time. There was no point in fighting; wasting the little energy I had in arguing. The best I could do was hope that I’d be allowed to have my violin and skull, possibly a soft uniform that wouldn’t be too itchy, and maybe a nice explanation for our parents to hear, so they didn’t feel the need to rush over to see me for ‘moral support’ or something.

“Sherlock, we’re not sending you away somewhere you don’t want to go, or without consulting you.” I snorted, _unlikely that,_ “We can talk about this, and come to up with a solution we’re all happy with.” The doctor continued regardless.

“Of course you will. How upset is Mummy this time Mycroft? Is she crying yet, disappointed? Have I upset her again? Congratulations Mycroft, you’re the sanest and better son, long may you reign.” I sneered at my brother, despite how he wasn’t speaking currently. I may not have been fighting or trying to escape the situation, but I’d be damned if I was going to let Mycroft win the entire situation without getting in a few blows myself.

“Your mother hasn’t been called, neither parent has been, and they won’t be unless you want them to be. The choice of what happens from now on is completely up to you, nobody is allowed to make the decision for you, because we believe that you are capable of making decisions for yourself.” I almost burst out laughing at that. _Since when have you **ever** been seen as capable for making **any** decision for yourself? You’ve been told what to do your entire life, with no chance of debate, nobody cares what you think. _

“Pull the other one it’s got bells on.” I glared at the doctor, wishing he didn’t treat me like some gullible moron. I’d never been in charge of my life, not properly, and after my ‘display’ in front of Molly, I doubted I would even get a choice of what I got for dinner.

“I don’t think I understand why you’re finding this hard to believe.” The doctor looked rather confused.

“Hasn’t Mycroft told you? He’s made all my decisions for me, because I’m a junkie, he’s chucked me into rehab five times already without caring about my say in the matter. And before that, I was put through a _tonne_ of therapy because I’ve got Aspergers, Mummy and Daddy dearest wanted another Mycroft, and they got _me._ So they put me through therapy and on a tonne of drugs that kept me quiet, none of which helped. If anything, it made me into a junkie. But that doesn’t stop Lord Mycroft, Queen of England, from keeping me under tight control. So that’s why I’m not believing you about being given my own choice in the matter.” I hissed, glaring daggers at my older brother.

“We didn’t want you quiet Sherlock, we just wanted you to feel calm without needing to do all those stimming motions.” Mycroft pointedly looked at my fingers, which were tapping patterns against each other.

“Didn’t do much did it? I learnt all the control myself.” I shot at him.

“Sir, would you mind leaving the room for a minute? I think I’d like to talk to Sherlock alone for a while.” The doctor actually showed my brother the door... _wow,_ since when did that _ever_ happen?

And even better, Mycroft actually _left._ The over-controlling mother hen of a brother left me alone with a doctor. _Well what’s the point in staying when he’s had this conversation five times over?_

“Whatever dirt you have on him that gets him to pay attention to you, tell me it, it’d be nice to have something over the git.” I smirked, relaxing a small bit now Mycroft wasn’t here.

“I don’t have anything ‘over’ him as you say. Your brother just respects my profession, so he left so we could talk.” The doctor sat down on a chair. _Here we go. He’s going to treat you like a crazy person, and tell you you’re going away to a padded cell because you’re a danger to yourself!_

“Uh-huh and I’m supposed to believe that my brother actually left the room at your command because he respects you and not because of some other reason?” I raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

“Your brother does care about you Sherlock; he wants the best for you, which may be why he’s taken over in the past. But today, he’s asking your opinion.” The doctor explained, I rolled my eyes.

“He cares about his reputation being ruined. Now get on with it, what are my options? What kind of options does a sociopathic ex-junkie who freaks out when someone grab hold of their wrists have?” I leant against the wall. _Act like you don’t care, like this is nothing. Don’t show weakness._

“First of all, you’re not a sociopath, that’s just something you say to push others away. The junkie thing doesn’t completely apply to you right now because you haven’t gone near anything that counts as a drug in several years. What I’m worrying about is the flashbacks and the lack of sleep, when was the last time you got a full night’s sleep?” he continued.

“Not a clue. I don’t sleep much.” I shrugged, fancying my chances with this conversation. Maybe I could deflect him enough to get him off my back and leave me alone. _If you think that’ll work, you’re more desperate and naive than I thought possible._

“Right, should have known that, I’ve read your file. How about this, when was the last time you felt completely safe in a situation? With no feelings of pain, anxiety, no flashbacks, anything like that. When was the last time you felt _good_ in a situation?” He asked, well damn.

“Three years ago probably, sometime before I left to go take down Moriarty’s web. But going on a mission like that does generally tend to suck the fun and enjoyment out of _any_ given situation.” I shrugged it off like it was nothing, because really, what did he expect? I’d been on a bloody _suicide_ mission, going up against the web of the most intelligent criminal this planet had ever seen! If it had been a walk in the park I wouldn’t have had to have done it!

“I see...” He went on and on for several more hours, and I either answered or deflected the question, refraining from reducing him to a quivering mess with my deductions. Mostly because the man seemed almost _wiped clean_ of them, I could tell how long he’d been qualified for, but not the state of his marriage, if he had any children, or anything. _Bloody Mycroft._ Yes, bloody Mycroft keeping me from deducing.

“Okay, well after all that. I personally don’t think you need hospitalisation, and to be honest, I think it’ll worsen your condition to be taken from those you love and the things that make you feel safe, which you’re in desperate need of,” _thanks for that reminder,_ “So instead I’m going to prescribe you a few medications, just to ease your nerves and to help you sleep. And before you protest, they’re not going to knock you out, or limit your brain function, which I know is very important to you. It’ll just give you the ability to sleep, and keep you from having too many flashbacks, so you can get on with your life. I’m also saying that you need to have a therapy session at least once a week, and if all of that combined doesn’t help, I will most probably prescribe antidepressants too, but we’ll see how this goes for now, alright?” He stood up, smiling warmly.

“And how exactly are you going to _make_ me do any of this? Surely you know by now I’m about as stubborn as anyone can get.” I challenged, no way in _hell_ was I taking pills. If I wanted to dumb myself down and sleep, I’d be shooting up morphine by the bucket load. But I rather liked my brain function; I wasn’t slowing it down just to get rid of a few _memories._

“Because you’re scared that you’ll hurt your friends, that you’ll never work again, that’s how I know.” The doctor smiled again, “And no amount of pouting or glaring is going to make me back down. I’ve been on the receiving end of your brother’s stare, if I can survive that, I can survive Holmes The Younger’s glare too.” He smirked this time.

“Whatever, I’m _far_ more terrifying than my _brother,_ for one, I can resist a cake shop, _and_ use the less weight to actually _hurt_ people.” I snatched the prescription out of his hands, storming out the room.

“But you don’t want to hurt people, do you?” I bloody _hated_ psychiatrists getting into my head!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this chapter trails off and goes a bit weird by the end, for some reason writing this, and the next few chapters, was really difficult for me to do!  
> But thanks for the millionth time for all the kudos and comments on this! :D


	53. Chapter 53

52 Sherlock's POV                            

“Not a word Mycroft. Not. A. Word.” I glared at my brother as I stormed past him, trying to hold onto at least a _small_ bit of my dignity.

“I’m not saying anything Sherlock, nothing at all. Though it would be rather useful for you to remember to take your medication this time, instead of hiding it as always.” Mycroft sighed as he apparently admired his umbrella.

“Whatever, I don’t need some _medication_ to have control over myself.” I rolled my eyes, because I _didn’t_ need it. I was perfectly happy as I was damn it! I just needed to learn more control. Or just to have nobody touch me ever again.

“Just take it Sherlock, you know it’s either take it and learn to survive that way, or land yourself in another institution, and we all know just how _boring_ you find _those_ places, don’t we?” Mycroft gave me that all-knowing look, that said ‘ _You went through five of them before because of boredom and insolence,’_ I winced at the memory of it all.

“Worth getting kicked out, just to see your face when they suggested _you_ look after me.” Oh that had been a fun morning; Mycroft had nearly experienced an emotion over the suggestion.

“Yes, well that won’t ever be happening, I’m far too busy.” Mycroft covered the look of horror at the idea being brought up again. _Not even your own **brother** can stand to look after you. _That was because I didn’t need looking after.

“Of course you are, sticking your nose in my business seems to keep you far too occupied, are the governments of the world actually playing _nice_ for once?” I leant against the wall, seeing as the ass brought me to his house, I could as well just take the piss a bit, punish him a little for taking over _again._ At least he’d brought my coat this time. _Only so you didn’t have a complete and utter meltdown._

“None of that concerns you Sherlock. Just do as the doctor says and _try_ to recover this time, I don’t particularly want to deal with the fall out of you hurting someone by accident during an _episode_ of yours.” Mycroft sighed again.

“I’m not going to hurt someone! I’m not an _idiot_ Mycroft, I can tell the difference between memory and reality!” I growled at him, because I could tell the difference damn it! I’d panicked in front of someone _once_ and it was like I’d killed Molly or something!

“And yet you thought of Miss Hooper as a captor and locked yourself in your room away from her. Just because she held your wrists.” Mycroft argued, without changing tone, it was _infuriating._

“I was already agitated okay?! I wouldn’t have reacted like that unless I was already on edge, alright?!” I defended myself again, wishing Mycroft would just _listen_ to me. _He never listens to you, there’s no point in talking to a murderer with clear PTSD, who talks to himself._ I’ve always talked to myself, it wasn’t anything new! _Still very weird._ Well I didn’t have anybody to talk to! _So you talked to a **skull** like that would give you company. _Billy was very good company. _Because you named him after yourself, **William.**_

“And that’s another thing, you do realise you’re talking out loud, don’t you?” Mycroft raised an eyebrow.

_Busted!_ “O-Of course I’m talking out loud, I’m having a rather inane conversation with you.” I took a step back; _you’re in for it now! It’s not like you could hide this forever!_

“And talking to someone else at the same time Sherlock, you can’t deny that you’re hearing something that isn’t there, something, or someone, is demanding answers.” Mycroft stood, following my retreat.

“No there isn’t! I don’t know what you’re on about!” I denied, flat out denied it. _Deny everything! If you don’t, they’ll think you’re completely crazy and take you away! You’ve narrowly escaped it this time. LIE LIKE YOU’VE NEVER LIED BEFORE._

“You do, don’t you Sherlock? You’re hearing voices, and you’re talking to them.” Mycroft tried to look sympathetic, but it just looked _wrong_ on his face. _He’s never cared before, he isn’t starting now!_

“It’s not true! It’s not, it’s not true.” I panicked, because I wasn’t letting this one out! I didn’t want to be sent away again, I didn’t want it! I was fine, I’d take the damn pills and everything if Mycroft just _left this alone_ and didn’t send me away again! _He’ll do it anyway moron! Pills won’t work on you; pills have never worked on you! They won’t work! And if they do, they’ll affect your ability to think, and you’ll still be broken and taken away! I_

“Sherlock, you can tell us if you’re hearing things, we can help you with it too. It’s nothing to be ashamed, or frightened of, not after what you’ve been through.” The doctor appeared behind Mycroft. _He’s rethinking his decision to send you home! Psych ward here we come!_

I didn’t want to go away, please I couldn’t go away. I couldn’t make _him_ go away in my mind; I couldn’t live without his voice. I needed his voice to live; I didn’t want John to go away completely! He was rude and horrid to me, but I could _hear_ him and I didn’t want to ever let that go! I didn’t want to give him up, I didn’t want to give up my freedom and give him up. I just wanted to go home now, was it too much to ask to be left to _go home?_

_What, where I can turn into a second Redbeard? Where I witter away at you all day, just like how Redbeard runs in when you need him? How pathetic is that? You’re so reliant on **one** human being and a **dead dog** to get through a day. You need to be institutionalised. _

“William, tell us what’s wrong.” Mycroft said in the calmest voice he’d ever used on me, it sounded like Mummy’s voice after Redbeard died. And it _broke_ everything inside me, I couldn’t fight anymore, I couldn’t do anything but fall into my brothers arms, like I had done to Mummy all those years ago, begging him to not send me away, or send John away from me.

“Don’t make me leave, please, a-and don’t take John away from me. I-I need him, I need him so much.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still really appreciating all the comments/kudos! Sorry if this ending seems a little OOC from Sherlock, I just really wanted him to get some comfort from Mycroft and I really couldn't think of any other way to do it. If it seems OOC I totally understand, I'm not sure on it either!


	54. Chapter 54

53 Mycroft's POV

Calling Sherlock ‘William’ had been the last resort to get him to talk to me, because I’d known about the talking to himself problem for months now, and that it hadn’t been mentioned in that therapy session. I’d been happy to let it slide for a while, but it was getting worse, to the point where Sherlock was talking back to whatever voice was in his head right in front of me. Before his mission, he wouldn’t have even dared talk to his skull in my presence, to see him talking to absolute thin air in front of me was worrying to say the least.

Though, what I hadn’t expected was for him to fall into my arms, clutching at me like a five year old. I was almost at a loss for what to do, because this was _Sherlock_ I was on about here, he _didn’t_ hug me, he didn’t initiate physical contact of any kind with anybody unless he loved and trusted that person. He certainly did not love and trust me.

But, I awkwardly put my arms around him anyway, unable to resist trying to comfort him _somehow_ when he was crying like this. He was reminding me of his twelve year old self again, all messy curls and innocent eyes. I found myself not seeing my little brother as he was now, instead I felt like I was holding the twelve year old William in my arms, not Sherlock. I wished he’d stopped doing this to me, getting himself into these emotional situations, which were pulling on my tightly repressed heart strings, making me remember the child he sadly grew up from.

“Don’t make me leave, please, a-and don’t make John leave. I-I can’t, I can’t live without him. A-and I can’t leave again, I don’t want to go.” Sherlock whimpered, fisting his hand around my jacket. I refrained from giving any signs that that bothered me, figuring it wouldn’t make Sherlock feel any better. Not in his fragile state, I didn’t even know how to reply to him.

“Okay, we won’t make you go anywhere you don’t want to go. How about we go and talk about it?” Doctor Ellis spoke to Sherlock; I’d already showed him his file, so he knew why I was calling my brother William, and who John was.

“Don’t take him from me, please, I need him! I-It’s all I have left of him, you can’t take him away!” Sherlock begged, “Don’t take him from me, not like Redbeard.” He continued, he was _still_ upset over Redbeard? I knew he still remembered him, and was bitter over his death. But was he really comparing losing a voice inside his head, presumably John’s, to losing _Redbeard?_ Well, I guessed it was a similar situation for him; he did have a rather large attachment to both of them...

“We’ll try out best, alright? Come on, let’s go talk about it.” Doctor Ellis tried, Sherlock didn’t bother moving.

“I don’t want to talk, I want to go home. Just take me home.” Sherlock pouted, gaining some sort of resolve.

“Well maybe we could go and talk at home then, if that makes you feel better?” Doctor Ellis suggested, “We can’t send you away if you’re a home, now can we?”

“Yes you can. I’m not stupid.” Sherlock stood straighter, I smoothed my suit out as he let go.

“That is true, I shouldn’t have insinuated that you’re stupid, I apologise. Anyway, we should probably talk about who you’re talking to anyway, because he sounds very important to you.” Doctor Ellis was using a condescending tone, _that_ was not going to go down well.

“Don’t patronise me, I’m not a four year old!” Sherlock growled, ah, he was rallying back again.

“I apologise again, I’m just saying that whoever you’re talking to, he sounds important to you. Maybe you want to talk about why you’re talking to his voice, and not to him?”

“No, because it’s none of your business, and if it was, it would have been in my file.” Sherlock sneered, hands starting up their repetitive stimming motions. Thumb against first, second, third, fourth finger. Thumb tap first, third, second, fourth. Thumb press first, fourth, second, third. Over and over again. I’d always wondered the significance of that particular pattern, but never dared ask.

“Is the voice John’s voice by any chance? You must miss him a lot, as he’s moved away.” Doctor Ellis chose his words carefully, practically tip toeing around the mind field that was Sherlock’s mind with rather good ease.

“None of you _business_ who I talk to or not. It’s _my_ brain; you can _get out of it_ immediately.” Sherlock growled, wincing a few seconds later. The voice is his head must have talked back just then...

“What did he just say to you then?” Ellis was starting to push it a bit. Sometimes keeping the pressure on Sherlock caused him to do _amazing_ things, especially while solving all of his cases. But this, this wasn’t a good idea. He’d just had a bit of a breakdown, was clearly agitated, and now had someone pushing him further; he was going to snap if this didn’t go well.

“Sherlock, it’s probably for the best that you take a few deep breaths and _calm down._ ” I warned, Sherlock’s breathing was getting heavier again, the finger movements speeding up. Ellis better be paying attention to my words too, or he’d be in _serious_ trouble if he made my brother worse.

“Sherlock, you’re stimming.” Ellis nodded to the moving hand.

“Stimming? Am I really? What a surprise _that_ is with you all talking as much as you all are! _Sherlock stop stimming, Sherlock take a breath, Sherlock calm down. Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock!_ ” He imitated in an annoying voice, “Will you all just _be quiet_ for _five_ minutes and let me think?! You’re overcrowding me!” Sherlock shouted, _and that’s the snap. Nice one Ellis._

The guards around us tensed a little at the shout, watching for my order to jump to contain Sherlock. I shook my head at them, _stand down, and give him space._ I’d seen him do this before, seen all the meltdowns in the past. He needed space, breathing room.

“Backing away.” Ellis took a few steps back, he was learning.

“Shut up will you?! Shut up, don’t move, don’t think, don’t even _breathe_!” Sherlock hissed at him, forcing himself to calm down, breathing forced, slowed breaths. Eyes closed, hands moving to press together under his chin, classic ‘thinking/mind palace’ pose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the comments and kudos have been lovely again, thank you! :D


	55. Chapter 55

54 Sherlock's POV

I raced down the hallways of my mind palace, desperate to find 221b, find that little bit of happiness in this chaotic situation. I couldn’t take all the questions and statements that were being thrown at me from all sides. I couldn’t process them as quickly as I needed to, desperately trying to deflect each question as it came. But I couldn’t do it, not as quick as I needed to, not so I could successfully get out of the situation without being sent off to some psych ward or other.

I just wanted to go home, that was all, I just wanted to go _home_ and stay there. Even if Molly was there, wanting to go for a meal or something with me for whatever misguided reason she had for it. At least with her I could keep her mostly away from me, convince her to not tell anybody about how I’d been, she’d lied about bigger things for me in the past. But here, in Mycroft’s house, surrounded by the guards who’d brought me here, under their intense stare, and Mycroft’s analytical gaze... and that _damn_ therapist, it was all too much. I’d never met a therapist I’d liked, especially when they tried to point out everything I did that was _different_ and _not socially accepted,_ making me feel like I was a complete freak. It wasn’t like I was rocking back and forth and screaming, I was just tapping my fingers against my thumb, what was so wrong with that?! It was calming, and I was _stressed_ with all the people and everything else that had happened today, I was allowed to tap my damn fingers together!

Eventually, I found 221b, practically running inside and flopping onto the sofa, breathing in the slightly musty smell of the flat. _Ah, better._ I could breathe in here; pretend that I was alright in this perfect version of my flat. John’s coat was still on the rack, shoes on the floor, like he was just upstairs sleeping, or in the shower. An experiment was on the table, Billy the skull on the mantelpiece, violin perfectly tuned, _everything_ exactly how I liked it. Exactly how it looked before Moriarty’s trial, when everything made half sense, when the plan was just a plan, the two years away just a concept.

If I could have spent my life inside this room, I would have, without a second thought. But I couldn’t stay here forever, this mind palace version of my flat only looked like this while I was out of the real 221b. When I was inside it, I visualised what the flat actually looked like, barren of John’s things, no experiments, out of tune violin I was too afraid to touch. It looked _wrong,_ not my flat. Like someone had come in and moved everything just slightly, so it looked fine to everybody who didn’t know it any better.

But here, this flat, this one was _perfect._ And exactly what I needed right now. I could do anything I wanted in here, nobody would come in and disturb me, or see what I was doing. On the outside, my body would be completely still, on the inside, I could stim and run and play the violin to my heart’s content. What could be better than that?! So I got to work, picking up my perfect violin and playing a tune I’d composed years ago, swaying along to the music I was making, twirling around my flat, coat flying around with me. I stepped all over my furniture, which I’d been too scared to do for months, leant against my wall and running my fingers over the wallpaper, feeling the textures change as the pattern did under my fingertips. I touched over the spray painted smiley face on the wall too, feeling the bullet holes, for once my heart beat didn’t speed up at the idea of bullet holes, because these bullet holes didn’t hurt anybody sentient, had been done when I was _bored._ And then John had come in after that. Sure he’d been angry and spent the night at... Sarah’s I think, and Moriarty had blown up the flats across the road. But I’d still been happier then, because I’d had John at my side.

I’d been happier than ever to have him near so often, walking in and out the flat, talking and laughing with me at crime scenes and everything. He’d been a saving grace to be with me, I wished desperately to have him back, but right now, I was happy with what I had in this room. John was just upstairs on his laptop, or sleeping... Or he was downstairs with Mrs Hudson, keeping her some company. Yeah, he was downstairs with Mrs Hudson. I didn’t need to hear John’s voice in here, because he was still with me, just downstairs. He could be back up at any minute. So I didn’t need to fear having his voice taken from me.

“Sherlock, we still need to talk.” The voice of the so called _doctor_ broke my illusions, roughly pulling me from my 221b.

“I’ve had enough of talking with you.” I glared at him, because he’d pulled me from my only _happy place_ because he wanted to _talk_ to me. Hadn’t he finished talking to me yet? I had nothing more to say to the man, therefore why should I continue talking to him? He was an idiot anyway, I hope Mycroft fired him.

“A minute ago you were close to having a small breakdown, after having a rather large breakdown earlier on today, talking to a voice only you can hear, I think we need to talk about it.” He reasoned, _tell him anything and he’ll immediately take you straight to a psych ward. Even you know that talking to a voice inside your head in wrong._

“Well what do you expect when you don’t stop questioning and pressuring me to answer, in a room with guards surrounding us exactly? Do you just want me to submit like a good little mental patient? Well it’s not happening; I’m not some idiot who’ll open up the second you ask it of me.” I growled at him.

“You were begging us to not take you, or him, away. That’s a rather serious thing, it needs to be addressed.” The doctor, couldn’t be bothered to find out the idiots name, continued.

“No it doesn’t, because I’m _fine._ Got it, I am _fine;_ I’m fully functioning and able to make my own decisions. You yourself said that you thought I was able to make my own decisions, so that’s what I’m doing. I’m _not_ talking to you anymore; you’re a moron ‘just trying to help’ when in fact you just want to fill me up with enough drugs to knock me into catatonia, well _no thank you._ I’ve been down that road before; I’m not going down it again, not without a fight. So if you want to continue talking, then go talk to somebody else who needs it, I’m done here.” I turned round and started to leave.

“Sherlock we’re not done here. You’re talking to _John’s voice,_ which is not a good thing to be hearing.” Mycroft tried to stop me.

“So what? You never cared when I spoke to my skull, what’s so different now? Is it because I’m making a scene with it all, talking to ‘thin air’ in front of others? Afraid that it’ll get out Mycroft, ruin that precious reputation of yours? Well I don’t care, you told me to move on from John, this is me, moving on. Deal with the fact that I’m a disgrace on _your_ time; I’m going home and _staying_ there. If anybody fancies turning my entire life upside down again for your own ‘concern’ don’t bother, there isn’t must else that can be messed up.” I glared at the men and stormed out of Mycroft’s house, jumping into the nearest cab I could find and going home.

I’d had _enough_ of all the questions into my mental state and my life in general. I had been told by my _dear brother_ to move on and get back to normal life, conceal all the feelings inside me and find a way to continue without John. Well that was what I was doing; I was hiding in my flat like a good little boy and only going out when I was needed on a crime scene. So what if I was talking to a slightly meaner version of John inside my head? Wasn’t like I hadn’t done it before. And I wasn’t even causing trouble right now!

It wasn’t like I was going on a killing spree, or taking drugs, I wasn’t even _smoking._ I was getting my life back on _my_ terms. I’d just been a bit shocked today, it wasn’t my fault it caused a bit of a breakdown, I’d been taken by surprise. If I didn’t get taken by surprise, then I was going to be _fine._ So everyone could leave me the hell alone. I was perfectly fine, I was just hearing John’s voice and having occasional flashbacks, I was coping pretty well with it all if I was honest. So I shouldn’t have been treated like I was a time bomb. It had happened far too often as a child, I was _not_ tolerating it as an adult.

_Mycroft won’t tolerate you walking out like that. He’ll grab you when you least expect it, or do something to make life a thousand times more difficult for you to handle. He’s done it before, he’ll do it again._ He could _try,_ I would fight him every step of the way. And if he tried to take John away from me, well, he couldn’t stop an _idea._ John was rooted inside my brain at this point; he couldn’t take him away from me. If he tried, I would just pretend that I’d forgotten him and train myself to act like I wasn’t talking back. It wasn’t like I hadn’t done that trick before, and how could he, or anybody, test if I was lying or not? They couldn’t. They couldn’t stop me doing anything, or do anything to me to get rid of John. He wasn’t leaving me, not ever. I _needed_ him, no matter how rude he was. I needed his voice, that small piece of him, to keep me sane. Take that away from me, and I would _never_ forgive the person who did it to me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for the comments/kudos. Just a reminder that if you don't have an account/if it's easier to comment elsewhere, you can tweet me @corruptedpov or message me on tumblr effulgentcorruptedpov!


	56. Chapter 56

55 Sherlock's POV      

Getting back to Baker Street, I heard voices in my flat. Familiar voices.

“He’s got to be back soon, they can’t keep him for this long.” Mrs Hudson was worrying.

“Well I wouldn’t trust that brother of his as far as I can throw him, so I have no idea how long he’s going to keep Sherlock away, or if he’s actually keeping to his word about not sending him away completely.” Lestrade... when the hell did _he_ turn up?! _Probably while you were knocked out, stupid. Do you really think Molly didn’t call your handler in after you freaked out?_ Yeah, that was a point. It seemed to be everybody’s go to reaction with me, I did something weird; Lestrade gets called in to reign me in again. _Before he reports back to Mycroft._

“Surely he wouldn’t be so mean as to not even tell us where Sherlock was, he’s... Well, we’re his friends; we can’t just be kept from him.” Molly said what now about us being friends?! I didn’t... I didn’t have friends; it wasn’t something I could have.

“Pretty sure that both of those brothers don’t know the meaning of the word friendship. I wouldn’t put it past either of them to up and leave without telling us, look what happened last time.” Lestrade said frankly. Oh.

_He’s right though, isn’t he? You don’t know the meaning of the word friendship._ _That’s what everybody said to you, wasn’t it? You don’t know the meaning of, and don’t get to have friends, because you’re a **freak** , and now you’re a murderer. You don’t have **friends,** you have colleagues and handlers. _

I, I had you John. _Well John’s not here anymore now is he? You’ve been landed with his **voice** and that’s it. _I still had you for a while. _Only because you gave him the danger he wanted and needed, he didn’t actually like you. Nobody likes you. They like your abilities, which are rather broken at the moment._ I was going to fix them...

“Shh... I think I just heard something.” Molly shushed Lestrade. But I’d heard enough, and didn’t want them to know I’d heard it, make them all apologise for their feelings towards me. And really, I wasn’t up to facing them either, not after that confrontation with Mycroft and that doctor, after that complete meltdown in front of Molly. I needed some alone time, somewhere quiet.

So, I simply turned round and walked out of my flat, hailing a cab and telling the cabbie to drive to Leinster Gardens. I’d won the empty house in the middle of the street in a poker game with the Clarence House Cannibal, and it was a great place to hide. The blacked out windows and untouched front gave the impression that the building was in fact a house. But in fact, the inside had been demolished years ago to make room for trains, barely anybody knew about it either. Mycroft knew about it, but other than that, I was the only one who ever went in there. I liked the quietness of it, the rattle of trains passing being the only sound which broke the quiet.

I hadn’t been here in _years_ though, luckily for me, it was exactly the same as it had been the last time I’d visited. Though, it was cold, very cold in fact. Since when did it get this cold? I wrapped my coat tighter around myself and wrapped my scarf around my neck, noticing it was in my pocket for the first time. _You’re slipping._ No, I was just... I was busy and wasn’t paying attention to my coat, that’s all. _Slipping!_ Oh shut it, I had had a _crap_ day; I was allowed a few small mistakes. _Crap day? More like crap life._ Whatever.

I slipped down to sit on the floor, taking a minute to _breathe_ for the first time in what felt like forever. It felt liberating to be alone, completely alone, after such a long day, filled with fighting for my own rights and confusion. To finally be alone with nobody poking their noses in or asking confusing questions was like surfacing from drowning in the ocean. I could breathe, could think my own thoughts, not having to deflect anybody’s questioning about my brain and how it worked. I’d spent much of my childhood in therapist’s offices, trying desperately to stop them from asking so many questions, from being so invasive into my thoughts. When I’d gotten clean from drugs, I’d promised myself to _never_ get myself near therapists ever again, because having someone trying to get inside my head, it _freaked_ me out. _Bit hypocritical isn’t it? You constantly deduce others and blurt it out to everybody._

But only when it was needed, like when I was solving a crime! I needed to deduce people, because they _lied_ otherwise, and it was quicker to deduce where they were and such so we could catch the killer quicker! And I deduced John and everybody because it was just... I just tried to use it as a way to talk to them. _By telling them that their boyfriends are gay, that their wives are sleeping with PE teachers?_ I was telling them that to stop them getting hurt in the long run! _And when you shouted out that Donovan and Anderson were sleeping together across the entire crime scene... several times?_ They’d hurt me first, I was just trying to shut them up and defend myself.

But anyway, I just didn’t like my damn head being examined! I didn’t like being diagnosed with conditions, being reminded that I wasn’t _normal._ What I wouldn’t give to be normal, or at least stop being condescended to by therapists because of my difficulties, trying to force drugs into me.

_Just like when you were a kid, pumped so full of anti-anxiety and anti-repetitive behaviour drugs you could barely think. Mummy didn’t listen to you when you insisted you were fine, did she? She just hugged you tighter, telling you you’d feel better soon, no matter how much you struggled. Daddy spoke to you like you were a time bomb, only daring to speak to you when you were distracted by Redbeard because he felt like he couldn’t talk to you without him. That’s why they got you Redbeard, to give you social skills and a distraction when the world got too much._

I didn’t want to think about that right now! I didn’t want to think about how different I was, or therapists, or being medicated. I was _fine,_ I was learning to cope! It was just... I was just taking a while to adjust. _A **very** long while. _I do not care! I was getting there and learning to cope! Everything had changed, and everyone kept on poking their noses in, if I was just left alone, I would be fine. _Just keep telling yourself that._

I would, because it was true, just leave me alone and I’d be perfectly fine! No problems whatsoever! If I could just spend a little time alone, get my head straight without being pestered and pulled all over the place. Maybe I could learn to deal with this all, maybe I could just learn how to be myself. Even if I couldn’t, everything would be quiet for a little while, and if there was anything I wanted right now, it was peace and quiet. Just me, on my own, like it had always been. Only with the addition of John’s voice to keep me a bit of company. He was a good enough skull replacement, and wasn’t too bad insult-wise when all the other input of the world was taken away. He was only saying the sort of things I used to tell myself, which made sense because his voice was inside my head, so it wasn’t too bad, especially when everybody else’s voice wasn’t there. It was almost calming, working through thoughts and wandering my mind palace like this, not being triggered into flashbacks, no abusive comments from anybody outside of my head, no intrusive questions. I rather enjoyed it.

And that was how I didn’t leave Leinster Gardens for three days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just seen that this has gotten over 500 comments, that's insane! Thank you to everybody who's commented, I don't think I've ever had that many comments on a fic before!


	57. Chapter 57

56 Lestrade's POV         

Walking out to look over the stairs of 221 Baker Street, there was nobody in the hallway. “Strange, though I heard something.” I muttered to myself, _sure_ I’d heard someone on the stairs, thinking it could have been Sherlock coming home.

“Check in the upstairs bedroom, just in case.” Mrs Hudson prompted, so I did, walking up to John’s old bedroom. It was completely empty, save for the bed, bedside table and wardrobe. No sign John had ever resided in this room. I wondered briefly if Sherlock had been back in here since he’d returned, if he had, poor sod must have been rather upset to see it back in its original state, from way back before John moved in.

“Nothing up here, must have been hearing things from next door, the walls are a bit thin.” I dismissed the noises I’d heard and went back downstairs again, going back to Molly and Mrs Hudson, both of whom were as worried as I was about Sherlock’s latest worrying turn.

Molly had given us both a full rundown of what had happened in great detail, of how Sherlock had initially agreed to going out with her, but had then turned it down again seconds later and gone into a bit of a state, tripping over his words and not making much sense. Then Molly had mentioned Irene Adler, and held onto his wrists, neither of which could have helped, considering how _that_ case ended, and how Sherlock wasn’t really fond of touch. What worried me most was how she had said that he was nearly begging her to go away and not touch him. I’d tried to reason with her that maybe he just didn’t want to be touched while he was stressed like usual, but if the outburst had warranted Mycroft turning up, well, it must have been a rather big freak out.

The three of us waited for a few more hours, until the day turned into deep night, but there was still no sign of Sherlock. Mrs Hudson was getting worried about Sherlock catching a cold in the night and ‘that brother of his taking him away’ while Molly was trying to convince herself, and us, that Sherlock was probably staying over at Mycroft's, or still talking to him. Whereas I was starting to doubt Mycroft's words to me earlier on about not taking Sherlock away. The man was known for this type of thing, and considering how late it was, I was starting to worry that Sherlock really had been taken from us and put in some psych ward or something. And while I was all for him getting help, I didn’t want him taken so far from his normal routine. He liked familiarity, having the same faces around, being in the same buildings. Uprooting him never did him any good.

So I gave in and phoned Mycroft, hoping I didn’t get put through to his PA with the changing name.

“Detective Inspector, I trust that Sherlock got home.” Mycroft answered... what?

“Er, no. That’s what I’m phoning you for. Sherlock hasn’t made it home. When did he leave yours?” I answered; Mrs Hudson and Molly exchanged worried looks.

“He left my hours at precisely 6.13pm,” four hours ago, _shit,_ “He got in a cab and drove off. My reports say that he did go home... Ah and left three minutes later. Damn.” There was the sound of paper rustling in the background.

“So that was the noise I heard.” I whispered, _damn it_ I’d known that something had been on the landing!

“What was that?” Mycroft asked.

“I heard, I heard a noise earlier, on the stairs. It must have been him. Well do you know where he is?” I asked, tugging my hair in frustration.

“I’m putting out the feelers now, but he’s going to be tough to find, Sherlock knows London than better anybody. I’ll put agents out to look for him.” There was the sound of movement, like the phone was to be put down.

“Wait, whoa there! Is that it? You’re just going to send out some agents to look for him? Aren’t you at least going to tell me, tell us, what happened today? Or what state he left in? What was decided?” I stopped him, gaining a sigh, like Mycroft couldn’t be bothered to tell me, like it was too _mundane_ to tell me what had been said.

“I obviously cannot tell you full details of the conversations held today, but I can say that Sherlock has been given medication to help him sleep and such, he has to have therapy session as well. Sherlock can tell you more if he wishes, but I can’t as it is confidential. He also left in as good mood as he can when we converse.” He replied simply.

“Great, so he was angry, possibly in a darker mood than usual and now he’s wandering London by himself. I’ll get more men out on it too, have a look out. Though I doubt we’ll find him, we never have before. We’re just going to have to let him get it all out of his system and come back by himself.” I pinched my nose with hands.

“That would be best. But I’ll still send out agents to look for him just in case.” Mycroft hung up on me, I groaned. We’d lost Sherlock in _London,_ after a long day, while his head was not at all well. This could _not_ end well.

I had policemen looking out for Sherlock for three days, Mycroft had agents looking, all of us looking around for our lost detective and getting _nowhere._ Nobody had seen him, there was no video footage, nothing was coming up with any sign of him. Where the _hell_ could that boy have gotten to?!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea if this is going to work, AO3 isn't exactly working right now and did just tell me that I didn't even have a fan fic posted on here, just to terrify me. But here's to hoping it works.   
> Thanks again for all the comments/kudos!


	58. Chapter 58

57 Mycroft’s POV                                    

I knew exactly where Sherlock was after just four hours, but refrained from getting him out of there, as he was perfectly safe where he was. I was sure that he was just in need of quiet time, as he was perfectly allowed to do after a stressful day. Though I did stick a few agents in the surrounding area, to keep an eye on Sherlock’s emotional state. They had strict orders to take him straight home if the weather got too cold, or if he had any sort of sign of having a further breakdown. I’d experienced Sherlock’s meltdowns in the past, some days he had just had enough of people, and needed to sit somewhere he felt safe for a long while.

Even though I was dreadfully worried about his mental state, I knew that he wasn’t in need of committing, and would hopefully see to our way of thinking about medications and psychiatrists once I’d given him the right push. For the moment, I thought it would be just fine to let him curl up in a place he found safe and let him recover from a stressful day in the quiet. Letting him do that was almost like pressing ‘factory reset’ like you would with a toy... Though I wished I _could_ reset him back to his original state, full of perceived arrogance, sleeping peacefully and eating when he deemed necessary, not so damn _sad_ all the time.

But for now I was going to leave him to it, though kept an eye on him, just in case. From what I could see, Sherlock was as okay as he could be currently. Though I could hardly believe that Sherlock was actually using John’s voice as a calming agent, so he had someone to simply talk to. If I was honest on myself, I hadn’t expected Sherlock to be _this_ lonely without John, figuring that he was so used to being on his own that he’d find his own way round the situation with relative ease. But it seemed that this wasn’t the case for him, and I should have known that from his behaviour when he first returned. The conversations he’d had with himself had been worrying, but I had first thought of them as nothing more as his usual need for an audience. But now it had grown into a coping mechanism, to deal with his loneliness.

I was starting to think that I _may_ have made a mistake, and was trying to fix it with giving him the therapist to help him a bit. But that had backfired, and I didn’t want to make it worse, so I was hoping backing off for a few days was going to do him a world of good. That and I was going to give him what he wanted most. John. I may have messed up a lot of Sherlock’s care recently, even after spending most of my life looking after him, but I could at least give him something he did need, and would hopefully give him the company he craved. At the very least, with John around he’d have someone to improve his physical health, which would surely improve some small part of his mental health.

And so, I arranged to have the day after Sherlock returned to Baker Street (of his own free will. He’d calmed himself down, gotten hold of himself and headed home just like he’d always done in the past, exactly how I’d expected) off, instead setting off to find Doctor John Watson. I didn’t have a clue on how long it would take to convince him to come back to my brother’s arms, but I was sure I could bring him round to my way of thinking with time. I had a lot of evidence to support my arguments, and if John was that unfeeling towards Sherlock after he’d found out a lot more of Sherlock’s last two years, well, I’d just have to find him a replacement friend. He wouldn’t thank me to start with, but the companionship would do him good... maybe an experienced psychiatrist would work...

But that was just a contingency plan, John Watson had been a rather loyal friend to my dear little brother, and had come before when he was needed. All I had to do was push him further in the right direction, give him the explanation he desperately needed to give him reasons for Sherlock’s behaviour. Possibly even his fall. I did want to leave Sherlock something to explain himself, but right now I needed to get John back into 221b, even if it was for a few hours a day. Damn even if it was just to bring him food, or accompany him to crime scenes! Just to give Sherlock _something_ that suggest their friendship could be rekindled.

This was why I waited until half past seven in the morning for John to come out of his flat and offered him a lift. Starting nice generally worked with the man, it was all a matter of figuring out which way would work for him this week.

“Whatever Sherlock wants, he can do it himself.” John growled the second I finished speaking.

“Whoever said this was about Sherlock? I may just want to have a chat.” I smiled as innocently as I could manage; I’d been informed many a time that it was nothing resembling innocence. But still, the thought counted.

“It’s _always_ about Sherlock, so whatever trouble he’s in this week, he can sort it out himself, I’m not helping. Not after how he’s treated me recently.” John answered, pointedly turning and storming down the road. My car followed at his pace.

“I’m sure you’ll reconsider after I’ve finished talking John. This is a big matter of importance.” That didn’t stop him either.

“Don’t you want to know why Sherlock pretended to commit suicide nearly three years ago?” now _that_ stopped him.

“No, quite frankly I don’t want to know. I don’t want to know _anything_ about that day, or that case, or _any_ of it, alright? I don’t want to know why he did it, or how, I _do not want to know._ ” John said through gritted teeth, hissing at me with such intensity it would have made lesser men cry. I was not a lesser man.

“Of course you don’t John, it’s not like that day hasn’t been given you nightmares for three years, and more recently you’ve been wondering how he could do such a thing. Let me tell you, the decision was not made at all lightly, or with any degree of ease. It cost Sherlock greatly that day, every experience afterwards cost him a little more of his very being. You may think you know what Sherlock went through and that he’s perfectly fine, but he is anything _but_ fine. So you may want to reconsider getting into this car right now and letting me talk to you, or there will be some _dire_ consequences for you and my _little brother._ ” I put extra steel in my voice, just to make sure he _knew_ that this was serious.

John’s face grew angry, and he opened his mouth to start shouting.

“Don’t argue, just get in. You know you’re slightly curious, and deep down, you still care for Sherlock.” I sighed, “This is more than a matter of petty arguments, ignore what Sherlock’s said before and get in the car. When you leave it, I can guarantee that you’re mindset will be completely changed on this entire situation.”

John growled to himself, but got in the car. Victory was soon becoming mine.

“Get on with it then, what’s the great prat done this time and how am I going to have my mind changed? Cause I severely doubt that you’re going to be able to change my mind.” John crossed his arms and glared evilly at me for this. He was _such_ a drama queen.

“Oh trust me; you will have your mind changed rather soon.” I picked up the file I had on the matter, “When you were last on friendly terms with Sherlock, he was in the middle of a very stressful situation as you know; Moriarty and the press were tearing down his reputation and his entire life. And when you left St Bart’s Hospital, Sherlock went to confront Moriarty, there was a fight, and it ended with Moriarty dying and his entire criminal network still running. So Sherlock had to go on a mission to take it down before it caused more harm.” I explained briefly.

“Still doesn’t explain why he had to pretend to be dead and _lie_ to us all for years.” John growled, fire in his eyes.

“Sherlock had to be a ghost, the more people who knew about his continued existence, the more likely the less than savoury characters he was hunting would find out he was after them and scatter. It was best for everybody involved that he pretended to be dead, because nobody expects a ghost to come along and take them down single-handedly.” I replied, again briefly. The main part of this story was up to Sherlock to explain on his own terms, I just had to do the outlining.

“Oh so he was just playing ghost hide and seek. Wow, opinion totally changed, the sun shines out of his ass.” John rolled his eyes. I really had _not_ missed the snarky comments from him. It was like a second Sherlock, just even more stupid.

“Quite. Moving on, I can’t go into exact details of what Sherlock has been through in the past two years as it is top secret, and also up to him if he ever wishes to share, but I can tell you this. It was _not_ a walk in the park by any stretch; his life was in _constant_ danger, fighting for his life on a daily basis as he infiltrated enemy bases and took them down, completely by himself. Sherlock isolated himself from the entire world for _two years_ to complete his mission and was not left completely unharmed. You know that well though, as you patched up his infection months back.” I casually looked over Sherlock's file, the full one, not the redacted version from last time. This one had pictures and everything, detailing _every single injury_ on Sherlock’s body, and his full medical history. Everything from his birth onwards, including the Aspergers diagnosis John was not aware about.

“And your point is what exactly? He’s be injured before, came out of it just fine.” John shrugged.

“Because this was different, previous wounds have been gotten during fights in _London,_ which he was _prepared_ for. This time, Sherlock was not at all prepared for the torture he went through.” I dropped the term in to see how John reacted.

“Drop the drama Mycroft, a little fight was not torture.” Wow, John nearly shocked me with his obtuse thoughts. He was on the verge of making me lose my resolve with him, if he continued making comments like this; I would not be hesitating in making him Public Enemy Number One and denying him access to Sherlock ever again. The only reason why he was getting another chance after failing so many times was because of how much he meant to my dear little brother. If he hadn’t have meant so much, he’d have been utterly destroyed for his comments by now.

“No, the fight wasn’t. The whips and water boarding on the other hand were.” I gave it the calmest, but steely, tone I could give it. Which had scared world leaders and diplomats into submission with just a _word._

“The what?” John suddenly leant forward, paling a little.

“You heard me. Sherlock’s captors tortured him, beat him whips and kept him chained and awake for days on end. He hasn’t told us exact details, but, well, you can see for yourself the physical damage it caused.” I showed the doctor select photos of Sherlock’s injuries, taken just hours after they were made. He hadn’t even showered at this point, so the blood was still caked over his body, though doing nothing to hide the ribs sticking through his skin, the bruising and cuts shallow, yet deep enough to practically show the whites of the bone underneath.

“I... I didn’t know.” John whispered, horror draining his face of colour.

“No, you didn’t. Yet you didn’t even bother asking before you threw him to the ground and attacked him, hurting him further. Or after you set about treating the infection that had set in. What did you think caused these wounds, a knife fight if I remember rightly, yet there were no defensive wounds on his arms or his front. The marks are clear signs of torture, yet _you didn’t notice_ until I had to point it out to you.” I glared at him, still not forgiving him for his treatment of Sherlock. I’d understood a while ago that John would have dismissed the idea of torture quickly, despite his army experience, because he still saw my brother as a God amongst men, utterly indestructible and untouched by pain. Even with his anger, he saw him as a God, and had been biased in his treatment, hence how he hadn’t even thought the wounds were caused by torture. Still, he had caused Sherlock a lot of emotional pain; I was setting the balance back to its rightful place.

“I didn’t know, I really didn’t know.” John insisted, handing back the photos, unable to look at them.

“Would have helped if you’d _asked_ at the very least. But that’s all in the past now, isn’t it? Sherlock’s home and healed now, out of danger in that respect.” I put the file away, picking up the tablet, “Shame about his mental state though, he’s been having one hell of a time as of late. So many nightmares, so much _screaming,_ with nobody there to help him out or tell him that everything was going to be okay. Worried poor Mrs Hudson and Miss Hooper half to death just the other day in fact, after having such a bad panic attack I had to step in before he hurt someone.” I brought up the video of Sherlock’s breakdown in front of Molly, accompanied with sound. The video ran into another one, from much earlier on, where Sherlock was screaming at a crime scene while his infection was still running riot in his body. Then a third, of Sherlock’s screaming nightmares, waking him up at the dead of night in terrified agony.

John's face completely drained of colour, his hands starting to shake. “But, he was so different around me? He was... he was fine.” He whispered.

“You make him better John, so much better than you can believe. He puts on a show for others, but he genuinely improves under your watchful eye.” I explained.

“I-I’ll help him, I-I’ll do anything! I can’t, I can’t just let him carry on like this on his own. I’ll do anything Mycroft!” John turned to begging.

“Excellent,” I fought to keep the smirk off my face, “Now what I need you to do is be exactly as you would usually be with Sherlock, a _friend_ for him, look after him as you used to do. But remember the rules I told you from before, they still apply. No mentioning the fall, no mentioning the things he had to do while he was away, _none_ of it. You will be his friend, and you will keep him healthy. If Sherlock wants to talk about his experiences, you let him and you comfort him, making sure he knows that he did what was best at the time, that he did not make a wrong decision, no matter how awful it seems. Trigger him off in any way and I will make you suffer consequences, got it?” John nodded, “Good. Now go in there and make sure he’s alright, a couple of hours a day should suffice, just to give him that company he desperately needs. And try not to react if he says something out of sorts or rude, as you saw from that video, Sherlock is _struggling,_ he needs _support,_ not to feel like a freak.” I warned, if I found out John had made Sherlock feel like a freak, he would never see the light of day again. Those two police officers that Lestrade worked with were on thin ice with me, John was on even thinner.

“I can’t, I can’t just walk in unannounced, can I? After I found all this out, I can’t just _walk in_ like nothing happened.” John paused from getting out the car.

“I’m not expecting you to, tell him that you’ve had a change of mind - that you want to talk to him and be friends again. The clinic was too boring or whatever you feel Sherlock will believe. And give him this as well; he’ll be rather grateful for it.” I handed John a small bag, a recent purchase that I’d thought would come in handy sooner than later.

“O-Okay. I just... Okay.” John breathed, getting out the car.

“Oh and John, mess this up or disappoint me, and you’ll never see the light of day again.” I warned and drove off, hoping that this actually worked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for all the comments/kudos!  
> I'm not totally sure about this chapter, because it is 'the big one' and it was really hard to get the seriousness of the situation through to John without giving too much away about what's happened to Sherlock, which really Sherlock should be telling him in the future. I've reworked this several times and still can't get it exactly how I wanted it, so this'll have to do, any con crit on this chapter is extremely appreciated, and if anyone wants to see the other version I have saved of this chapter I can send it over to them. But yeah, hope you guys enjoyed this chapter and it wasn't too bad considering how big of a turning point it is for this story.


	59. Chapter 59

58 Sherlock's POV

Mrs Hudson, Molly and Lestrade understandably had questions about where I’d been for three days, and I answered them as best as I could, telling them so many times that I’d been fine, that I just needed some time to myself, all the while wishing that they didn’t worry so much. I used to be able to disappear for days on end and nobody batted an eyelid, they’d just accepted that I was out and had happily let me go. Asked a few questions when I got in, other than that, didn’t really care. This time it was like this was the first time I’d ever gone out for a few days. _They’re acting like this because of your last conversation with Molly. They’re **scared** of the things you could get into out there, because you’re not whole. If you, a now practically certified mentally ill person, was injured or killed when they’d done nothing to get you, they’d be in serious trouble. They’re just saving their own skin. _

“I’m fine, really, I am. I just... I just wanted a bit of time.” I managed to escape their questioning at last and practically ran up to my flat and falling into bed. It wasn’t exactly warm, but it was better than the floor I’d been laying on for three days. And, it was quiet up here, not as quiet as Leinster Gardens, but quiet enough. I’d enjoyed the silence so much, to have the ability to think mostly straight with no interruptions, I just hoped that that would continue right now.

While I was thinking, I’d learnt that I coped so much better with minimal input. The fewer stimuli I had, the fewer flashbacks I had, the noise in my head died down a bit. It was _Heaven_ to be left like that, nothing getting into my head and twisting it round, forcing me to remember things I really didn’t want to remember, no questioning of my actions, no worried looks, no talks of damn medication either. I could just _be._

Maybe if I stayed in this room, curled up in bed, I’d be fine. If I just stayed here, wrapped in the covers, I’d find a way to be happy. Or at least feeling better than I did at the moment. It had sort of worked before; I’d laid in bed constantly, not talking to anybody, not being questioned unless brought out for a crime scene. The only way it would have been perfect would have been if I couldn’t hear Mrs Hudson talking about me to others, and that nobody came round.

_But you’d get **so** lonely if you didn’t have any visitors. _I’d get used to it, wasn’t like I hadn’t been used to not being spoken to for days on end. Before John I could have easily gone a week without a single conversation, at school I once went an entire month without a single conversation, because nobody wanted to talk. Being ignored by the population of the Earth wasn’t anything new to me. Besides, I have you, that was enough for me. _Sure it is, and what are you going to do for entertainment exactly?_ I had books, and an internet connection, I was sure I’d be fine. We’d gone over this damn it, keep up. John didn’t reply to that, so I curled further into the covers, burrowing myself into them so far I could almost pretend that I wasn’t getting out of them ever again.

Time passed for a while, and I remained rather content in my duvet sanctuary. I could just about make out the light moving across the room through the sheets, marking the passing of another day. Nobody came to bother me for hours, and it was almost like I’d reached Heaven again, I didn’t have to think about anything specific, or pretend to be okay to keep up appearances. There was no need to filter my speech, to work to keep up the mask of indifference, or remember to be polite, or be forced into _anything._ Social interacts had always been so difficult but right now they were harder than ever, because I was always having to pretend to be perfectly fine and my normal self, when I felt anything but normal. To be free of it, oh it saved so much energy, didn’t give me flashbacks, or breakdowns, it was almost nice to be kept from people. If I ever missed talking to others, I’d remember the last time I had a conversation with John or Molly. It was enough to put me right off again.

I didn’t know how long I was lying there, but eventually I heard hesitant steps on the stairs and a knock on the door. I ignored it, thinking it was Mrs Hudson coming up and bringing food or something. On second thought, I probably couldn’t ignore Mrs Hudson forever; I did live in her flat after all. She would obviously be coming up sometimes to check up on the state of the place, possibly bringing up food. _Again, she’s doing that just because she can’t leave someone to starve to death due to their disabilities._

“Sherlock? Are... Are you in? I-It’s John.” John?! What was... Why was John here? _Maybe you’re cracking up further._ I hadn’t ever had visual hallucinations before, not even while I was high. I didn’t think I was about to start now...

“Sherlock? Mrs Hudson said you were in... Are you in the bedroom?” John’s voice got closer, _he’s not here. He cannot possibly be here, what would he be here for exactly?! You’re not friends, he hates you, why would John possibly be here?_ He wouldn’t... he wouldn’t be here. But why was my brain trying to tell me he was?

“Shit, ah... I’m going to come in okay? If you don’t want me to, you can call out right now and I won’t come in. Probably don’t want to see me anyway, not after how I’ve treated you recently... _Fuck._ ” John stuttered... My brain wouldn’t make John stutter. He’d be, he’d be strong and dependable, just like always. He wouldn’t be stuttering or asking me for permission for things.

“Here goes nothing.” There was a sigh, and then the door opened. And John was there. John who’d only been up for about two hours, looked like he’d seen a ghost and wasn't looking at me... What did I do?! _Apart from exist, where’s the list of things you’ve done?_

“Ah... Sherlock, you’re awake.” John stated, he’d been in Mycroft’s car recently, very recently... Only about a few minutes ago, where he’d been given the bag he was holding, though what was in it was a mystery, there were no markings on it, or any markers for what was inside.

“O-Of course I am... Did Mycroft send you?” _No John just happened to be in his car a few minutes ago, what do you think moron?!_

“Er, no, no he didn’t send me per say. He more... We had a talk, and I opened my eyes to this situation... You’ve... I’ve been a bit not good to you as of late, haven’t I?” John didn’t look at me once as he said it. _He’s lying! There’s another motive here!_

“Not really.” He hadn’t been, I’d been worse to him. I’d made John think I was _dead_ for two years, a few shouts and one case of attacking was the least I deserved.

“You may think that, but... Yeah, I _really_ have been a shit to you, and I shouldn’t have been. So I guess I’m here to say... Say that I’m sorry, truly, I am. And that I’m not going to do anything like that again... And I guess, if you’re up for it, to make it up to you, maybe start all of this over?” John finally managed to look at my face as I sat up.

“I don’t... I don’t understand.” I didn’t understand, why was John saying all of this? Was this Mycroft’s doing? _What do you think? You just completely whacked out three days ago and now John’s here, he’s been in Mycroft’s car recently. Of course big brother has been involved in this mess._

“I’m here to apologise Sherlock, say sorry for all the hurt I’ve caused you since... well since you came back. And to make it up to you in any way I can, repair our friendship again, if that’s what you want. Because I’d really, really like for us to be friends again, wouldn’t you like that too?” John smiled nervously, fidgeting on the spot. _He wants adrenaline rushes from cases. He only wants that, look how tense he is, how he’s barely even looking at you, he **knows** that he was perfectly justified in hurting you before. But he wants adrenaline, and you give him that in your cases. Mycroft’s gotten involved in this as well because you need a carer to look after you. This way everyone wins, John gets adrenaline rushes, you get your ‘friend’ back and Mycroft gets to stop worrying about you so much because you have someone looking after you. _

“I’d, I’d really like that. But you don’t need to apologise for anything, you were angry, I understand that completely. I don’t hold a grudge against you for anything you’ve done recently, I’m the one who screwed up here, not you.” _Wow said three whole sentences without a stutter, well done for looking normal._

“Well, I still feel like shit, so you’re going to have to put up with me being extra nice for a while.” John laughed a bit... I could deal with that. I could deal with all of this actually.

Maybe I could thing to my advantage! Maybe, if I was lucky, I could prove to John that I had changed, that I could be a good person now! If I could show him I could be a nice, kind, normal person, maybe he’d actually want to be friends with me! I could show him I wasn't the machine he thought I was, or a psychopath, I could prove I was good! We could be friends, actual friends, I wanted nothing more than to be his friend, his _actual_ friend, not working on a mutually benefitting deal. _Yeah good luck with that, he’s not going to fall for this for one second._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologising now for any spelling/grammar mistakes on this one, I rewrote the second half of it today after 4 1/2 hours sleep, I've checked it over as much as I can, but something has probably missed my notice!  
> Thanks for all the comments/kudos! :D


	60. Chapter 60

59 John's POV

I breathed a sigh of relief when Sherlock told me that he didn’t hold any grudges against me for my recent actions. It was good to hear, to know that I hadn’t wrecked our friendship irreparably by being such a stubborn dickhead... Unless he was lying to make me feel better. No Sherlock didn’t lie about things like that, he was far too blunt, he didn’t do making people feel better.

Either way, I should have listened to him the first time around, should have known that Sherlock wouldn’t experiment on us like I thought he had, that he’d had a damn good reason for doing what he did. I still didn’t know why, but I wasn’t going to ask him, in fear of unbalancing us again, and per Mycroft’s warning. If the rules from before applied, I couldn’t talk about Sherlock’s time away, or his fall, or his current behaviour. Just had to act like normal and try to make him feel completely normal. I could do that, I could do anything, just to stop making him feel upset and out of sorts and repair our relationship in any way I could.

That video had been heartbreaking, seeing how he’d freaked out by simple touch. I’d seen it before, in Afghanistan, but to see it in _Sherlock,_ who was so well put together usually, it was gut wrenching. Maybe if I’d been with him, he wouldn’t have suffered so much... Okay, had to stop that feedback loop right now before Sherlock realised what I was thinking. He could read every thought I had, I couldn’t show him my guilt, just show him that I cared about him, that I was going to be his friend again. Try and be nicer than I had been recently.

“Thanks, I’m glad about that...” What did I say now? Oh the bag! “Er, here.” I handed it to him, wondering myself what the hell was in it. It had come from somewhere expensive, but that was just Mycroft, but it was also rather heavy. What would possibly fit in an average size bag, not making a distinctive mark in the fabric, and be so heavy? I couldn’t see what was inside, there was cloth in the way, but I guessed it could be a book.

Sherlock took the bag off me, lifting out a simple black blanket... Now that was something I wasn’t expecting. What was Mycroft playing at? What would Sherlock want with a blanket? Though, he was still on the thin side, probably a few pounds under what he had been when I’d first met him. He could have probably done with the insulation.

“Thank you, it’s...” Sherlock winced, “It’ll prove useful.” That was almost a compliment in Sherlock-speak, so I took it.

“It was Mycroft’s idea. As in, er, he gave it to me, to give it to you. Though you probably know that, read it in my left shoe or something.” We both winced at my comment; _nice going Watson, giving away that Mycroft sent you._

“I thought it was him, you wouldn’t have known otherwise... He told you, didn’t he?” Sherlock sighed, ducking his head like he was ashamed.

“Yeah, he did,” Sherlock nodded, defeat setting into his shoulders, “But it is perfectly normal, you know? It’s completely normal, I’ve seen it a lot over the years, so I know how it feels.” I felt like I should have reassured him. Sherlock had always acted impervious to anything, almost like he was indestructible, to the point that nothing could even scratch at his armour. Having all these panic attacks and PTSD-like symptoms must have been weighing on his mind; the sudden realisation that he was human and could breakdown sometimes must have been terrible to deal with.

“Bet you have.” Sherlock winced again, pulling the blanket closer to himself. His fingers were squeezing against each other in odd patterns. First, second, third fourth, first, third, second, fourth, first, fourth, second, third. I’d never noticed him doing that before... but I couldn’t ask him about it, Mycroft’s worrying words about making me disappear coming back to echo in my head.

We were quite for a few minutes, unsure what to say to one another for a few minutes, unable to meet each other’s gaze either.

“Shall we move this to the front room? May be more comfortable.” I wasn’t comfortable in Sherlock's bedroom. While he’d been alive the first time round, _he was never dead,_ I’d never ventured inside, unless it was to shove him inside to get some sleep, or check on him when he was ill. Other than that, I hadn’t felt the need to go in. After he died though, I’d been in such a state, blaming myself for his suicide and missing him so much, I’d crawled into his bed and _sobbed_ for hours. Standing in here like this was beyond awkward, remembering the complete sorrow I’d felt the last time I’d been here. All the while the man in front of me was actually alive and well, doing... whatever he’d been doing. _Not thinking about that right now._

“We should yeah.” Sherlock nodded, letting me out first, following me obediently. What the _hell_ happened to him to make the most unruly man I’d ever known to be _obedient?!_

“D-Do you want tea?” Sherlock stuttered out, and _stuttering,_ a number must have been done on him. But he’d seemed fine the last time I’d seen him, doing his usual trick of ignoring company in favour of his violin. How could he be so different now? I didn’t understand, was one an act? I didn’t know what to think at all, all I knew was that the panic attacks and the wounds had been real. No way were those faked. Sherlock was good, but he wasn’t _that_ good.

“That would be good. Are the cups still in the same place?” I automatically went to the kettle, feeling calmed by going through the motions of tea making. I’d done this a thousand times in this flat, in times of pain and happiness; today I just needed to do something with my hands.

“I haven’t moved them. I haven’t, I haven’t moved anything.” Sherlock mumbled, “And there’s-” The slightly brighter sentence was cut off abruptly, I turned to look at him, he was getting milk out the fridge, “Well, Mrs Hudson, she... She picked some up.” Sherlock handed me the carton of milk. As soon as I gripped the carton, I remembered the texts I’d sent him when he’d texted me the apparent milk joke. How did I forget about those texts?! I’d told him to delete my number and to never contact me again. My God, how could I have been so horrid to him?

“I,” What could I say to that? _Could_ I say something to that? I felt like I should say something; let Sherlock know that I wasn’t mad at him for the text. He clearly remembered it very well. But what could I really say to that to make this all better? I doubted that there was anything that wouldn’t upset him.

“It’s fine.” Sherlock took the milk back, putting it back in its rightful place, mumbling something about jokes.

“I was angry, I shouldn’t have said anything I did, I’m sorry.” I apologised, wishing I could take it back, I’d upset him so much, I hadn’t thought through what I’d said. I’d been so angry at the time, had thought the worst of Sherlock, and I was starting to see just how badly my words and actions had affected him. I was regretting it more and more every day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the comments/kudos!  
> Out of curiosity, how would you guys like this to end? I'm nowhere near finished writing this, but I'd like to know how you'd like for this to end, so I know what you'd like to see/have me heading towards!


	61. Chapter 61

60 Sherlock's POV

“You were justified in what you said, it’s fine.” I shrugged at John's apologies; I didn’t really see _why_ he was apologising. He was perfectly justified in everything he had said to me, and every hit he’d given me too. I’d made him think I’d committed suicide right in front of him, how could I possibly say that _he_ was in the wrong in the situation? I was the wrong one. _Just like always, you’ve been wrong the entire time you’ve been alive._ Didn’t I know it?

“You sure? I said some horrible things Sherlock.” John asked, he did look really regretful for what he had said.

“I’m sure. You were justifiably angry with me, what you said was understandable in the situation...” _go on, ask, get the story straight_ “What I don’t understand is... well, why you’re here now. I thought, well I thought you were still angry.” I couldn’t look at him as I asked, didn’t feel like I could look at him anyway. I didn’t understand why John was here in the first place, didn’t understand why he would possibly ever want to be _here_ of all places. After all of our previous encounters, I’d severely disappointed and angered him, lied to him in the most terrible way. Why would be possibly want to come back to me?!

_He’s here for the adrenaline rush. Life itself isn’t giving it to him; **you’re** his adrenaline rush now. Just like before. He’s just here to make you feel like you’re friends again so he’s justified in wanting to come with you. _

“I, well,” _trying to come up with a convincing lie,_ “I’ve been thinking recently, about the fun times we had before, and I missed you. I missed being around you and going on cases, running around London and such. I missed being around you all the time, and as I thought about missing you, I thought about our recent past... I realised that I had been a complete shit to you... So I decided to come back, see if we could make up and go back to how it was.” John eventually explained. _See, he wants adrenaline and cases. Not you. Not like how you want him as a friend._

“We can do that, sure.” I could provide him with the adrenaline rushes he wanted, I’d have to work to hide how seeing victims made me feel now, and I’d have to go after the criminals again, but I could do that. I’d do that for John, if that’s what he wanted. I’d do anything he wanted, if that meant he’d actually put up with me enough to _talk_ to me again. _It won’t make him like you._ Maybe not, but I was going to be nicer to him and prove that I could be human, and hope that would be enough to bring our relationship from colleagues to friendship. If not, well I could just hope that John would continue to act like I was his friend while we were together. _You’re so desperate for him, it’s hilarious._

“Great, that’s, that’s great. I’m glad about that.” John grinned; oh I’d do anything to keep that grin on his face. _Get with the cases then._ I didn’t have anything on at the moment; Lestrade wasn’t giving me anything after my ‘outburst’ and Mycroft’s intervention.

We lapsed into quiet after that, the two of us unsure on what to say. The silence wasn’t like before, not where we could sit in quiet without an issue. Now it was like we didn’t have a clue on what to say one another, we’d gotten past the initial awkward talk, what else was there to say? Apart from the explanations for what I did. I _really_ didn’t want that talk right now, if ever. _You’re going to have to say it at some point!_ No I didn’t, I didn’t have to say _anything._

_Don’t lie to yourself. You’re going to have to explain at some point._ Well for now, I was ignoring that idea. I’d just gotten John back to me; I wasn’t losing him within the hour by talking about the thing that broke us apart in the first place!

“So... Got any cases on?” John asked, giving me a weird look.

“No, not at the moment. Lestrade hasn’t called in a while because of what happened with-” better not mention Molly actually, “Well, London is being simple with its crime currently.” I explained, leaning back against the kitchen counter and holding my new weighted blanket to my chest. _Pathetic, needing a weighted blanket to get through this._ I wanted to curl up in my chair like it was a barrier, but I couldn’t. John’s chair wasn’t back in its place, and I couldn’t bring attention to the fact that I’d moved it while he was here! I was supposed to be acting like a human being, showing him that I’d moved his chair could just remind him that I was a machine who tried to delete things. I didn’t want him thinking I’d tried to delete him from my life.

“That’s a shame; I guess you’ve been doing a lot of experiments then.” John commented, hiding his disappointment in the fact that there were no cases to go on well.

“Not really.” I shrugged; my only experiment had been to see how long I could get away with lying in bed without causing suspicion. And I’d been pushing myself to the limits of what was considered ‘normal’ other than that, I hadn’t been doing anything. _Because experiments and violins annoy landladies and everybody around you. Don’t want any more annoyed people now do we?_ No, we didn’t.

“Right... Do you want to get some food? I’m starving over here and I don’t fancy cooking, there’s a new Chinese down by where I work we could try out.” _John wants to escape Baker Street!_ Of course he did, this place held too many memories for him. We should have left straight away.

“Sure, if you like.” I wasn’t hungry, but I was happy to let John decide what we were doing right now. _Keep him happy. That’s what Mummy said to do, make your guests happy and be considerate of them. If you want to be human, be considerate and keep John happy. Maybe then he’ll stay._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the comments/suggestions, I'm taking them all into account and will see what I can do! Please do keep on giving suggestions or theories on what you think is going to happen/what you'd like to happen, I love hearing them, and may possibly be able to fit them in somewhere! :)


	62. Chapter 62

61 Sherlock's POV

We were silent in the restaurant, only speaking to order our food, which I actually made an effort to eat for once. I thought it would make a good impression, make John believe that I was a human being. _Good luck with that, just a little eating isn’t going to prove anything._ It was a start at the least! I couldn’t just sit here and watch him eat in silence, that could be seen as creepy... And I supposed that I should eat at some point anyway. _Just think of what Mummy used to say. Eat at the table politely, don’t talk with your mouthful, be kind and pleasant. Ask about the other person; **try** to not go on and on for hours about a topic nobody cares about. _

“How, how have you been?” I asked, desperately trying to remember everything Mummy had taught me as a child to help me seem like a normal person. _Be nice William, look them in the eyes, don’t interrupt your partner when they’re talking, pay attention to them too, try to look interested, even if they aren’t as intelligent as you._ John-in-my-mind parroted Mummy’s instructions, going round and round in my head like a record.

“Good, I’ve been good. Doing the same old stuff, the clinic has kinda taken up all my time but yeah, I’ve been good recently.” John nodded, a little too enthusiastically if I was honest. _He’s faking enjoying talking to you._ I appreciated the effort at the least, always had, and always would.

“That’s, that’s good.” Oh God, what did normal people talk about in conversation? Work, weather, friends, family, _relationships._ “Have you found someone? A girlfriend... or possibly a wife?” It stung to ask if he’d gotten a wife, I selfishly wanted him all to myself. _You always want him to yourself, that’s why you used to crash his dates, to make them go away. Because **you** wanted him all to yourself, and because you were **scared** you would lose him. _Of course I’d been scared to lose him, John was the only friend I’d managed to gain, why would I possibly want to lose that?

“Wow, I forgot you don’t hang about.” I cringed at the comment, _moron,_ “But no, I’m still unattached.” John reminded me of our first conversation in Angelo’s, just after we’d first been into 221b together.

We’d had a similar conversation, and I’d shut him down completely, saying that I was married to my work, and said that I didn’t have friends. _You looked like a freak from then on out._ I knew that by now, that why I was trying to be _normal,_ just like everybody was wanting from me.

We lapsed into quiet again, and I didn’t have a clue on what to say anymore. I didn’t know what to say on _anything._ Did I ask if John was moving back in? What if that put too many expectations on him, or made him feel like he _had_ to move back in. I didn’t want to do that to him. As I’d already said, I was happy with whatever his choice was with our relationship, whether that be he was just my blogger, or if he was actually my friend. If it meant I got to see and talk to him without argument, I was happy. Honestly, I was. As long as I had John, I felt like everything was just that little bit easier than before, I could cope with the world just the tiniest better when he was there. I didn’t know why, but it just felt _so good_ to have John by my side. Like I was safe, that I could be accepted for the person I was, quirks and all. _Too bad that isn’t true._

Too soon, we were finished with our meal, and after I paid for the both of us (it was the least I could do, and that was also a nice thing to do... right?) John announced that he should have probably started to go home. And though I tried to hide my disappointment, he still saw right through it.

“Hey, I’ll be back round tomorrow. This wasn’t a onetime thing you know, I’ll be back as many days as I can manage, and be around whenever there’s a case on.” John smiled, reaching out to put a hand on my arm, before withdrawing it again before making contact, “Unless you want me to come back to yours for a bit longer? I just thought that, you know, you’d like a bit of space, you’re not used to all the social interaction, and I did spring myself on you a bit suddenly.” He continued, starting to into a bit of a ramble.

“The springing on me was fine,” because it was, it _really, really_ was _,_ “I’m glad that you want to see me again. It... It’s nice, to have company sometimes.” _You sound so damn desperate, it’s **hilarious.**_

“I can imagine it is, you’ve cooped yourself up for too long. But, I should probably get going, got some stuff to do myself, patients and all that. Shall I come round tomorrow?” John still wasn’t quite looking at me, nerves showing him off far too much. But _why_ was he nervous? I didn’t understand why he would be nervous. It should have been _me_ being the nervous one, because of all the things I put him through over the years, and being scared of ruining our new relationship, whatever it was, by being more freaky than usual. _Well you are talking to yourself, and twitching rather a lot. And been given a **weighted** blanket. Just like that one you had as a child. _

“That would be nice, if you’re free. You shouldn’t go out of your way for me; I can manage on my own.” _What you are doing is **not** managing; it’s basically sticking your fingers in your ears and going ‘la la la la, I can’t hear you.’ _

“Sherlock, I cannot stress enough have little plans I have, I would be happy to come round again tomorrow, and the day after, and every day after that.” _He’s lying,_ “I’ll swing by around seven, for now though I really should go. See you tomorrow Sherlock.” John turned and left, _couldn’t wait to get away. You’re only interesting company when there’s a murder. And even then it’s because you’re dragging him into danger to **solve** it. _

_\--_

And that was how my new routine started, every day John came round after work, spent a few hours with me, and left again. Sometimes we went out for dinner, sometimes he brought takeaway, and sometimes Mrs Hudson brought us up food. She was ecstatic at our new acquaintance, but I wasn’t sure if John was. He always looked so nervous to be around me, he just about met my eye, barely managed to talk to me for about 50% of the time. I didn’t have a clue on what to say either, there was such a _huge_ elephant in the room, and neither of us wanted to bring it up, ruin the slightly good mood we had going.

Most of our visits were literally spent eating in silence; it was starting to make my skin itch. I usually _liked_ the quiet, but this was too much. I hated sitting here and not saying anything; I was just _sitting_ here, watching John and trying to act normal for several hours a day. It was painful, actually physically painful, to sit like this. I wanted more conversation, less awkward silences! But I didn’t know what to say, what to _do,_ there was nothing I could do to fix this. We needed a case, something to do other than just _sit_ here and pretend that we were okay. If we had a case, we had something to do, something to talk about, it would be like the old days. Before the fall, before anything went wrong.

I wouldn’t have to pretend to be fine; I _could be_ fine, back to normal! If we could just have a case, a nice, good case, we could run off after a criminal and talk about _that._ Maybe if I was lucky, John would say I was brilliant again. Oh I was _craving_ being told that I was better than who I was right now. That I was _doing_ better. Just to be told that I was being brilliant and fantastic, that I could amaze someone again, not scare them and push them away. I wanted that, _so badly._ To just feel for two minutes like I was of value... that my brain was working. And to have John to talk to, oh I would do anything to have something solid to talk to John about.

There was too much uncertainty right now, so little to talk about, so little to _do._ Could we just have a nice case we could go out on so I didn’t bore him on a daily basis and show him I was _useful?_ I didn’t care how gruesome it was either, or how triggering it was either. I’d learn to cope, just like always. I’d learn to cope with the flashbacks and panic attacks, just so I could show John I was still useful for his needs.

I was terrified that he was going to get too bored and leave again, and I couldn’t have that. Not again, I couldn’t take it if he left again.

I pulled out my phone, starting a phone call. “Lestrade I need a case, I’ll take anything. Please tell me there’s a case I can look at with John.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for all the comments/kudos!  
> Also apologies for any spelling/grammar mistakes/sentences that don't make sense in chapters for the next couple of weeks, I may not be able to proof read as much as I usually can because I've got three essays to do by mid April so I may be spending a lot of time doing them, unless I can get a lot done on the train home/at weekends etc. Update times won't change at all because I have it all written out, but please excuse any spelling/grammar errors!


	63. Chapter 63

62 John's POV

Hanging out with Sherlock every day was so much harder than I thought. I’d thought that it would be rather easy after we got over the initial awkwardness of my reappearance in his life, but if anything it just got harder. I’d been hoping that things would go back to normal, cases, takeaway and sitting doing our own things in harmony with each other. But it was anything but that. It was... it was hard to come up with conversation, thinking of something to say to him that wouldn’t set him off like Mycroft had warned against. This was a Sherlock I hadn’t dealt with before now; he was just so _quiet_ and fumbling over his actions. And I didn’t think I was making him any better at all, he wasn’t experiencing panic attacks or anything around me, but I didn’t know about the rest of his day. Was he panicking, having nightmares, sleeping, _functioning?_ I didn’t know, and I couldn’t ask, afraid of the consequences Mycroft had imposed on me if I got it wrong.

He wasn’t the only thing I was afraid of either. I was scared to hurt Sherlock, mentally and physically. Every time I looked at him, I could see the wounds he’d received, saw the videos of him having screaming breakdowns because of a simple touch. It made me scared to touch him, in case I made him do it too. There were so many moments where I had to catch myself against touching him, just in case I hurt him and he reacted badly. But at the same time, all I wanted to do was reach out and hug him, apologise profusely for how I reacted to finding out he was still alive. I couldn’t imagine all the pain Sherlock had gone through, to receive all those wounds, and then to have me reject him too. And I’d caused that pain, not the physical, but the mental was at least partially me.

So I wanted to hold and hug him tight, tell him that I was _so sorry_ for doing that to him, but how could I do that without freaking him out or hurting him? Sherlock looked so _breakable_ right now, like just a small gust of wind would break him into irreparable pieces. I’d never seen him so fragile, even after I’d seen him beaten by criminal thugs and everything. He’d never look like he was completely helpless and so damn unsure of himself.

There were so many times I looked over to him to see him opening his mouth to say something and then snapping shut again. He winced and cringed so often too, in the middle of conversation, when it was silent, all the time. Sometimes, when we had something to talk about, Sherlock spent the entire time cringing, holding onto his head like he had a migraine, free hand’s fingers tapping out patterns. There was even a time I walked in on him, curled in a ball under his new blanket from Mycroft in the corner between the sofa and the window wall. I could have sworn he was stroking the wallpaper but couldn’t be sure, because he jumped up so quickly when I opened the door.

That was the worst part actually, not the inability to help him. It was Sherlock’s insistence at acting like he was alright. I could see him trying constantly to act like he was perfectly fine in the situation, if I was totally honest, it was like he was trying to be _normal._ He’d never been one for small talk before, could happily sit in silence for hours as long as he had something to do, but now he was trying _so hard_ to talk, and so often it fell flat. It made me wonder just how long he’d been left on his own; didn’t anybody even try to talk to him?

I decided to get some answers, phoning Lestrade and asking him to fill me in on what had happened in my absence.

“Well, not a lot put it that way. Sherlock’s been in his own little bubble ever since he came back, we’ve tried popping it, but until you came back, we could barely get him out of the flat for anything less than a crime scene, and even then he was barely out for a few hours at a time.” He answered, he sounded _tired,_ like he’d been trying with the man for a long time. I guessed he had.

“Right, but he’s _always_ be in a bubble of his own. I’m talking about since he came back, how much contact has he had with you guys, cause he is so closed off, it’s almost like he’s lost all of the little social skills he had.” I wanted to say that it was like we’d had Sherlock taken from us and been given back the scared child version. I didn’t even know if he’d been a scared child, or vulnerable at any point in his life, before now I’d only ever seen the over-confident and arrogant man who could get in anywhere, be anyone, and act perfectly. This one though, this one was none of these things. He was just... there, struggling to be normal and getting nowhere.

“Well, he’s been, he’s been quiet, that’s for sure. Withdrawn and like you said, without any of the social skills he used to have. There were no arguments between him and Donovan or Anderson, no want to chase after murderers, and no put downs to anybody being ‘stupid’ compared to him. When he first came back, he had a few really weird moments where I genuinely questioned his sanity, but that was while that infection of his was running riot with him so I’ve put it down to that. And if not, I guessed Mycroft’s doctor guy gave him some medication or other to calm him down. Though whether or not he’s taking it is another matter, have you tried seeing if he’s taking it? That could help him a bit with at least something.” Lestrade answered.

“Medication? When was this?” I didn’t know anything about medication! Did Mycroft tell me about medications? Had I been in shock when he told me? Or was he expecting Sherlock to tell me?

“I don’t know if there was any medication, I’m just guessing right now... How much do you actually know of the events leading up to you seeing him again?”

“That he had several breakdowns and was not coping at all well, had a freak out in front of Molly most recently, that’s about it.” I summarised, Lestrade hummed in thought for a second.

“Basically, after the Molly thing, Mycroft picked him up and we were all absolutely certain that he was getting taken off to some clinic or something against his will, but Mycroft said that it was just a visit to a psychiatrist to assess him. With the way Sherlock is, I figured that Mycroft had given him some sort of medication, and that’s why he disappeared for three days. And knowing Sherlock like we all do, the likelihood of him _taking_ the medication is zero.” Lestrade laughed with no humour in it.

“So you’re telling me that I got called in after a psychiatrist consult and everything? That’s what Mycroft meant by looking after him.” I growled a little, I’d thought that Mycroft had called me in to give Sherlock some company because he needed it, not to be his damn doctor.

“I guess so. But you are helping, I can tell. I phoned Mrs Hudson to check up and she said all about how Sherlock’s eating and getting out of bed again because of you. Even if Mycroft wanted you to doctor Sherlock, you are honestly helping him. He’s getting better,” A phone rang in the background, “And speaking of the devil himself, he’s just ringing me now. Sherlock _never_ rings anybody; I’d take that as a damn good sign.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments/kudos. Just a reminder that if you don't have an account on here you can tweet me @corruptedpov or message me on tumblr effulgentcorruptedpov :)


	64. Chapter 64

63 Sherlock's POV

Lestrade gave in and called us in on a small case, just to test the waters, as he put it to me. The crime scene was already packed away, but he called us over to the station to look over the photos and give our take on the crime. So I as soon as John walked in, I was ready to spin him back round and out of the door again.

_Doing that may annoy him. You’re dictating where he goes._ I paused from running out of the door. What if I did wind him up with that? I always used to grab him and yank him out of the door, what if that was still wrong? _It’s always been wrong, it still will be wrong._

“There’s... There’s a crime scene, well Lestrade called us in to see him at Scotland Yard, do you want to come?” Nice and polite, giving John the option, that was good. Mummy had said that options were good. John was here for the adrenaline rush, I could give him the adrenaline rush, but I had to ask first. It was nice to ask, right? Was I even doing this right?

“Yeah, of course! Sounds great!” John lit up from his slight gloom to a huge grin, eyes sparkling happily. I found myself smiling, letting him take the lead to take us downstairs and into a cab.

And, as we made it to Scotland Yard, I found myself relaxing just a small bit. Not a lot, but a little bit. I could almost fool myself into thinking that this was normal, just a normal day with John. Cases, cabs and each other. The two of us against the rest of the world. _Even though it isn’t anymore._ It felt like it though, and that was important. I could pretend that we were normal, that we were still under the friend pretence, and that I could handle. That I liked. _Now you’ve just got to act like a human being, not freaking out or flashbacks or **anything** at crime scene photos. And you’ve got to deduce everything as well as usual, and not insult anybody, or make them feel inferior. Just because John is here doesn’t mean that you’re magically fixed. _Oh God _why?_

No, no, I could do this. I could do this, I managed before, and now I had John as a buffer. He always knew me better than others, and he knew when I was struggling with something and made me rest. _You’re supposed to be acting like a human being! You’re not supposed to be broken!_ Fuck, this wasn’t going to end well for me, why did I think crime scenes were a good thing for me? Why did I ever think any of this was a good idea?! _To keep John. He stays for the adrenaline, crime scenes mean adrenaline. So you have to suffer to keep him._

Finally we reached the station and made our way to Lestrade’s office, our arrival caused everybody’s heads turn. Every single eye in the room turned round to stare at us as we passed, some glaring, and some just outright looking shocked at who was following me.

“Oh my God, the Freak got his pet back. He _actually_ came back! After all he did to him? Must be mad, absolutely bonkers. Or being paid. The Freak isn’t short of a bob or two; he’s probably paying him to be around him.” They were whispering non-too-quietly as we passed. _That’s what they think of you, that you’re a freak who can’t make friends. That you have to **pay** people to be around you. That’s how pathetic they think you are. And they’re kinda right. You’re paying John to be with you with adrenaline rushes. _John clenched his fists by my side as we walked; I made a point to hurry up to get us out of the way and into the safety of Lestrade’s office. _It’s not safe there. Remember the conference room?_ Sod. Off.

John grumbled something, almost ripping Lestrade's door open and slamming it behind the two of us.

“Afternoon boys, glad to see the two of you together!” Lestrade grinned upon seeing us. He’d set up the crime scene photos in his office, probably to avoid everybody else looking in or something, which I appreciated.

“So what do we have?” John asked, idly observing the photos tacked on the wall.

“Literal locked room mystery. I’m not even joking with that either, I am talking _literal_ locked room mystery. Man named Oliver Drake, self made multimillionaire, though a total recluse. Probably suffered from some paranoia based illness because he hid himself in his panic room every waking hour he spent in his house. It’s got the bed and everything in it so he just hid in there,” sounded like a perfect way to hide to me, “The room was temperature controlled, independent air supply, everything. Nobody can get in; nobody can get out, so explain to me how somehow Oliver ends up dead in his own panic room.” Lestrade explained, pointing out the picture of the air control systems and everything else he said.

“Can anybody get in or out?” I asked, looking over the locks. It looked like every other panic room to me, keypad on the door and standard panic room settings.

“It locks itself for the same amount of time every day. From 7pm and 7am, it’s like clockwork. It can’t be opened, or anything, inside or out. Its voice controlled, and has iris recognition. Only Oliver could get in or out.” Lestrade answered, “That’s why I brought you in. He died of asphyxiation, yet the oxygen control was not tampered with as far as we can tell.”

“Asphyxiation, so starved of oxygen, yet the room wasn’t messed with, strange.” John made me gulp. _You know what it’s like to be oxygen starved, to have water filled lungs, unable to breathe at all. Remember how that felt? Wasn’t fun was it?_ No, it was not fun, but I wasn’t thinking about that right now. A man had been murdered, I needed to solve it. **Lungs not working, too much water! Can’t breathe!**

“Got any ideas Sherlock?”  Lestrade asked, his hand resting gently on my shoulder. _Tick tock tick tock._ **Can’t move, can’t breathe. Dying I’m dying!**

“Er...” I couldn’t think of anything. Absolutely nothing. My lungs were constricting, my thoughts grinding to a halt, not going past the idea of being drowned. **Water so much water! Lungs burning, vision fading, going to die!**

I couldn’t think, I couldn’t think! I needed to be able to think!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my best friend Charlie for the murder method and the victim's name, because I had nothing when I first tried this chapter!  
> Also apologies for the ending, I'm not sure if I like it very much but my current essay is draining my entire life force at the moment so I can't rewrite it without making it sound worse.   
> Thanks for all the comments/kudos!


	65. Chapter 65

64 Lestrade's POV

Sherlock seemed to just _stop_ suddenly, I didn’t even notice at first. Not until I realised that John was doing most of the talking in this conversation, I cursed myself by being unobservant at a time like this. But I’d just thought that Sherlock would be fine now that John was here with him, how I’d thought that I didn’t know, but I had genuinely thought that he would have been fine and better than usual, like he had been when John first turned up. It had been so long since he’d been at a crime scene, I’d nearly forgotten how he reacted... and how he’d been the last time he was at the station.

“Sherlock? Are you okay?” I didn’t want to draw attention to him, but he looked like he was barely breathing, hands not even doing that weird tapping thing.

Sherlock didn’t reply, eyes glazing over as he stared into nothingness.

“Sherlock? Sherlock...” John reached out; I grabbed his hand before he could make contact with Sherlock's arm.

“No, last time I did that, he screamed blue murder.” I warned, because he _had_ screamed and begged for me to make ‘it’ stop. I wasn’t going to let him go through that again. But I didn’t know what else to do either! He was just, frozen to the spot, seeing something beyond what we could see.

“He’s having a flashback, we need to ground him.” John went ahead and held onto Sherlock's arm, gently starting to talk to him, “Sherlock, its okay. You’re in Scotland Yard with me, John, and Greg. You’re okay, you’re safe now.” He was whispering.

Slowly, Sherlock seemed to come back to the room, leaping out of John’s hold.

“Let me go!” Sherlock shouted, twisting away violently.

“Sorry, sorry, but Sherlock, do you know where you are?” John put on the kindest voice he could, hands up to show he meant no harm.

“Scot... Scotland Yard.” Sherlock stuttered, after a slight pause, heaving in breath.

“Okay, that’s good. Do you know what just happened just then?” John asked, doctor mode fully activated right now. Though I couldn’t help but think that his tone wouldn’t be helping much, Sherlock wasn’t fond of being talked to like he was a moron.

“Yes, I was in my mind palace and you interrupted me.” Sherlock glared, defensive like he used to be. Even though it was clear that he was lying, he hadn’t just been in his mind palace, there was still more fight in him than I’d seen in him for a _long_ time. I didn’t know whether or not to enjoy the reappearance of that personality trait or not...

“Okay, well did you come up with anything?” John was so very clearly suppressing the need to question more there. He knew that that was not Sherlock-in-his-mind-palace behaviour, that was a painful memory coming to the surface, completely unwanted.

“Could be a canister in the vents, pumping out carbon dioxide, or sucking air out of the room. The air control doesn’t change concentration of oxygen and such, just pumps out the same continual concentration. So to suck out the oxygen or fill the room with carbon dioxide would be rather easy. So look for something like that in the vents.” Sherlock answered, shaking his head like he was trying to clear his head.

“That’s genius.” John encouraged, I wasn’t sure if he was talking about Sherlock or the murderer.

“It would have taken planning, and a lot of it. The killer would have had to have known the victim’s routines well, and the problems with the air systems. Look for personal assistants and the like.” Sherlock waved it off.

“Still though, brilliant for working it all out!” John grinned; Sherlock looked like he was utterly shocked to be told he was brilliant again.

“Thanks... it was, I’ve heard about it before. I just... put together the dots.” Sherlock blushed bright red, shrugging.

“Still, brilliant. Just as always.” John smiled, just as he always did.

“Thank, thank you...” Sherlock hesitated, “We should find a list of the people I described and go after them for questioning.” He turned to the door.

“Whoa no way, we’re, as in me and the team, are going to find suspects. You two are going home, you’ve gotten yourselves in so much trouble in the past, and I’m not having more trouble get stirred up on your first case back!” I stopped him, because there was _no way_ Sherlock was going out finding criminals when he was as ill as he was. He was not mentally... _stable_ enough to go off chasing criminals with only John for back up.

“No, I want to go with you! I’m better at picking out suspects.” Sherlock protested, desperation crossing his face. I’d expected this though.

“No way. You two are going straight home, my orders. I don’t care if you think you’re capable, you’re going home. You’re not coming out criminal catching until I’m sure you’re capable, aka, until you stop looking like a walking skeleton.” I swore he wasn’t coming with us until I was sure he was stable. Not that I was saying that to Sherlock, he’d hit the roof with protest about his cognitive function.

“Please, I want to go. John, you want to go don’t you? And if John goes, I’m going!” Sherlock looked over to John, his eyes pleading desperately.

“I’m good either way, but I’m leaning more towards Greg at the moment Sherlock. You’re not in the right physical state to go round on criminal chases.” John sighed; Sherlock looked stricken at the idea.

“But we _have_ to go.” Sherlock nearly pouted, I would have smiled if he didn’t look so panicked at the same time.

“We don’t, we can sit this one out, and sit out a few more if needs be. It’s all okay; you pointed Lestrade in the right direction, that’s supposed to be what you do. So it’s okay to sit this out for now, we’ll get back onto criminal chasing in a while. So come on now, let’s go and get something to eat, leave Lestrade and his team to catch the criminals.” John managed to reach over and put his hand on Sherlock's arm, who deflated.

“Fine, we’ll go and get food if you insist... Lestrade, tell us the resolution of this?” Sherlock looked hopefully up at me.

“Of course, I’ll let you know as soon as we make the arrest.” I promised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments/kudos!  
> Nearly finished the essay I'm trying to do so all should be back on track with editing and everything soon! But speaking of editing, I'm actually on the hunt for a beta reader but have absolutely no idea on how to go about finding one, has anybody got an experience in finding them? Any help would be greatly appreciated!


	66. Chapter 66

65 Sherlock's POV

_Stupid, stupid move! Such a stupid move! What were you thinking, having a flashback in front of John like that?! He sees that and you’re done for!_ I knew that, I knew that, I was an idiot. But I hadn’t meant to have a flashback now did I?! It wasn’t like I had _control_ over this type of thing! If I did, life would be so much simpler! It was just, the photos of the crime scene, the cause of death, I knew how it felt to be drowned, to be starved of oxygen like that. I’d been there, was hit with the memory of it every single time I got in the shower. But I was getting better, learning to control it. _Too bad that control doesn’t extend to crime scene photos, or crime scenes for that matter..._

“So... Where haven’t we been in a while, eating wise?” John broke the silence once we’d left Scotland Yard, gotten past the intrusive stares of the officers and the damning whispers.

One place was screaming at me _Angelo’s,_ but I refused to say it. That was where I’d revealed myself to be alive again, no way was I going back there right now, deliberately bringing up bad memories for the both of us. I wasn’t stupid. _You feel like you are now though, don’t you?_ Possibly. Didn’t matter, because I wasn’t. My IQ was off the charts, Mummy had me tested aged five. _Because she thought you were mentally deficient because you weren’t talking._ Wasn’t going to be thinking about that right now. No way.

“Er... Why don’t you pick, I’m not, I’m not really hungry.” I admitted for the first time, I hadn’t been hungry at any point when eating with John, had just done it to please him. Just like I was trying to do everything I could to please him. Sleeping, eating, talking, trying to be a human being, taking him to crime scenes to give him what he wanted. _Too bad you’re not a human being, or this would be so much simpler._ Shut. Up. Right. Now.

“Alright.” John hesitated, “You shouldn’t be upset about not going to the crime scene by the way. We still got the puzzle bit, which is great, and really, Lestrade is only looking out for you in the long run, ‘cause he is right, you’re looking a bit on the skinny side still, probably best not to go haring off after criminals just yet.” He went to put a hand on my shoulder, quickly retracting it again, a flash of something going past his face. _Doesn’t want to touch you, appearing too friendly will make you think you’re friends again. He doesn’t want to be your friend; he wants to be your colleague, just like he said to Sebastian Wilkes._

I resisted the urge to say that he could touch me, that I wasn’t going to get the wrong idea off him if he did. John may have been saying he didn’t mind not going off on a wild chase across London, but he did, he really, really did. I could read it in his body language; he was too tense, as tense as he was just sitting in 221b. John needed action, and I wasn’t giving it to him like I was supposed to, damn it why couldn’t I just give him what he wanted without someone getting in the way?!

“I guess. Still wanted to go though, I haven’t been on a good chase in months.” Maybe we could talk about old cases for a while, that would be nice. To talk, and we’d vicariously be having a bit of that type of adrenaline filled fun, right? _No, you’re just whining._

“Neither have I. But it’s fine, next time maybe. For now, I’ll settle for a morning jog around one of the parks near my place.” John shrugged it off, leading us into a Chinese restaurant. He seemed like he was eager to appease me by repeating that not going out on a criminal catching run was fine by him. I didn’t understand why.

_He’s trying to trick you, stupid. His plan is to trick you into thinking you’re friends so you take him on cases. A small compliment here and there, turning up and sitting with you for hours on end, that’s how easy it is for you to be tricked into thinking you have friends._ I knew better than that... _No you don’t. You’re so hungry for affection that anybody can pay you the slightest bit of nice attention and you’re practically planning a wedding._ That was _not_ true!

My head was starting to hurt with the noise inside; the stress was getting to me now. I’d just wanted to please John, pretend that this was all completely normal for us again, and I’d managed to screw it up by being _underweight._ That was it, I was underweight, and so Lestrade had barred me from anything other than looking at crime scenes. _The dog is back on the leash._ I wasn’t a dog! I was, I was... _Lestrade’s sniffer dog. His personal crime solving robot. The Met’s best pet. Bring him out of his cage, watch him do his trick, and stuff him back inside again before he thinks he’s important enough to warrant being treated with respect._

Ugh, go away! I pushed my face into my heads, willing it all just to quiet down a bit just long enough to get through dinner without causing a scene. It was all I was hoping for right now, not making a scene in front of my frie- _colleague,_ and keeping this tentative relationship from falling off the edge into the point of no return. Again. _Good luck with that. You can feel your lungs restricting again, can’t you? It’s getting harder to breathe, the sounds of the room are getting louder and louder, all those smells getting more intense, can you feel the room getting smaller?_

“Sherlock, are you okay?” John’s hand appeared on my shoulder; I jumped feet, but managed to tramp down the small squeak noise my mouth wanted to make. He looked concerned, possibly even a bit worried at my behaviour. _Shove it down. Lock it up. You are a machine, it’s easy. Lock it all up and act like a normal human being **right now.**_

“Fine, fine. I just... I’m in need of food, that’s all.” I realised that this was the first time John had touched me since he’d treated my wounds all those months ago. His hand felt so warm, even through my coat, jacket and shirt. It was a good kind of warmth too, and with just the right amount of pressure added too. If I could, I would have wrapped myself in his arms and ordered him to _never_ let me go ever again.

“You do look faint. Sit down; I’ll get some prawn crackers or something to eat while we get served.” John forced me to sit at a table before letting me go in search of a waitress. I forced myself to sit still and not grab hold of him again, push myself into his chest and feel that warm feeling again. I hadn’t been touched in so long, especially not with kind intensions; I’d almost forgotten how good it felt. What I would have done to constantly have a reassuring hand on my shoulder all the time, what would I have done to have _John’s_ reassuring hand on my shoulder all the time.

 I had been forced to wrapping myself in the blanket Mycroft had given John to give to me all day; it was weighted, and therefore gave the right amount of warmth and pressure to imitate human touch all over my body. Recently, it had felt like a God send, not that I’d ever admit it to _anybody._ But it had been, to feel wrapped up and safe for half my day, oh it was Heavenly, it replaced the human touch I craved as well as it could.

Thought it didn’t compare to John's touch, that perfect touch of reassurance. It killed me to watch him retreat his hands from me every time, I would have loved for him to just stand a little closer, touch me like a friend, like he used to, anything. Just so he felt closer, the rest of the world that little bit further away, so I could stand up straighter and feel like _me_ for five minutes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for all the comments/kudos!


	67. Chapter 67

66 John's POV

I brought Sherlock back some prawn crackers after ordering our usual Chinese preferences, they wouldn’t be the most nutritious thing he could eat but it was something to keep him going. He was looking suspiciously pale and ill at the moment, something I wasn’t putting down to worry or hunger. It was obviously to do with what had happened in Scotland Yard, but I couldn’t mention it, especially not in public. If I mentioned it now in public, it could bring attention to us, which I was sure that Sherlock wouldn’t appreciate. And I couldn’t really ask as it was, Mycroft had forbidden me from asking about any out-of-the-ordinary behaviour, and while I usually wasn’t that scared of him, Mycroft had actually scared me during our little talk. It was the laser-death stare he had been giving and the ambiguous threats, I’d never really defied Mycroft with orders against Sherlock, and I knew that he would stop at nothing to hurt the person who hurt his little brother. I was not going to be the person in front of the firing squad for hurting Sherlock, never, ever again. Not after I’d hurt him when he first came back, and shouted at him so often since then. I was going to be a good friend to him now, make him feel like his normal self, move on and pretend none of this happened.

Still though, I was so concerned for the man in front of me. He really did look ill right now, had been looking gaunt and death-pale for weeks if I was honest. He was still acting strangely too, still talking to himself and wincing at times, tapping out patterns with his fingers, too quiet. Right now, there was no hand tapping, instead he was actually sitting on his hands, taking deep breathes through his mouth, facing the table. It reminded me a little of a marionette with all but one string cut, so his body was remaining upright, while the rest of him was for the most part lifeless. Even those bouncy curls of his looked lifeless, overgrown and half heartedly tamed, none of their usual bounce to be seen. What the hell was going on with Sherlock? I didn’t think... I didn’t think he would be this different, or this affected by being told he couldn’t go out criminal chasing. From previous experience, he’d sulk on the sofa like a five year old. Right now, he just, he just looked defeated.

And I didn’t have a clue on how to fix it, or help him in any way whatsoever.

“Here, eat some of these and drink some water, settle your stomach a bit.” I placed the glass and the bowl on the table, startling him a little, “Sorry, but, eat up a bit. It’ll make you feel better.” I apologised, hoping that most of the problem was a sugar crash, though knowing deep down that that wasn’t the case. This was something more, and I couldn’t even ask about it in case I upset him, or Mycroft, and ruined this tentative relationship we had going. I didn’t want to ruin it, I wanted to help him, wanted my friend back, not the echo that was left behind. But how did I go about it?  
Lestrade had mentioned a medication... was Sherlock even taking them? If so, maybe they needed changing... I’d have to subtly check for pill packages when we got back to 221b, find a way to ease it into the conversation. Right now though, focus on getting Sherlock fed and back home.

Luckily, Sherlock actually ate everything put in front of him, managing to perk up a little. Though he still looked so downtrodden and defeated. All I wanted to do was hug him tight and tell him that it was all going to be okay soon, that I’d give him anything to make him happy. But I was scared to touch him; I was so scared to touch him in case I hurt him. In my head, I knew I wouldn’t, because he had physically healed from all those wounds he’d gotten, but I still saw them every time I reached out to touch him. If I touched him, I would be touching those wounds, all those scars on his back, all over him. What if I hurt him, or reminded him of the pain from getting those wounds? What if he thought I was an attacker? It wasn’t unlikely, judging by his reactions to Molly and Lestrade touching him, I didn’t want to be seen as an attacker, I’d already been his attacker before, and I wasn’t going to pick that up again.

The best I could do was give him a little distance, stay close enough to catch him if he wobbled, but enough space to breathe and not feel threatened. I found myself following him move for move as we walked home, moving away if he walked nearer, always giving him a nice bubble of space, just in case. I couldn’t tell if it was helping or not.

“Sherlock,” I sighed once I’d put the kettle on in 221b, after having a subtle check round for signs of the medications Lestrade had mentioned, “Have you... Lestrade said something to me, about you having some sort of, well, medication, that a doctor has given you recently. Are you taking them?” Right, got the words out, subject breached in the nicest way possible. Not accusing, or judging. Just a doctor asking a friend, nothing bad about that.

“I...” Sherlock winced again, holding onto his head with a pained expression, taking that as a no, “No I’m not, shut up,” He said to himself, “No. I haven’t. Because I don’t need them. I’m fine.” Sherlock said to me through gritted teeth. Definitely taking that as a no.

“Why’d you think that then? Is it because Mycroft told you to take them and you’re automatically disagreeing on the grounds that he’s a prat?” I asked, wincing a little when I remembered that Mycroft was always listening. But he couldn’t get to me for that, I wasn’t insulting Sherlock, and I was trying to relate to him on a personal level, brother-bashing was one of his favourite past times. At least, it used to be anyway.

“No, I just don’t need them. I’m sleeping just fine.” Sherlock lied; I could see the dark bags under his eyes, sleeping was not something coming to him right now.

“Are you sure about that? You’re looking a little tired at the moment; maybe you should give them a try, just for a few days, to see if they do anything.” I pushed gently, sitting next to him on the sofa, again keeping the safe distance, so he wasn’t overcrowded.

“I’m fine, I don’t need medication, I’m sleeping and functioning normally, I don’t need them!” Sherlock insisted, hands doing their tapping pattern again, the first new sign of danger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments/kudos!  
> Also thank you to NitaWolfKin for agreeing to BETA this! :D  
> And I'm very sorry for not updating yesterday, I got caught up in mothers day and was away from the internet for most of the day, then when I got back I was caught up writing for this/making an essay plan I kinda forgot about which is due in on Wednesday! So I ended up forgetting to then update here, sorry about that!


	68. Chapter 68

67 Sherlock's POV                    

After John left, I did honestly seriously consider taking the medications the psychiatrist had said to take. Only to please John of course, and to see if taking them, or at least pretending to take them, would get me and him back out chasing criminals again. I would at least make an effort with them if it gave me access to cases again with John.

_But what if taking medications officially proves that you’re not able to be at crime scenes anymore? What if Lestrade knows you take meds and kicks you to the kerb? How do you think you’d cope without any cases at all? Do you think John will stay for that? No, no wasn’t thinking about that. Carry on like this and you will be taken from crime scenes and everything. You’ve had one run in with a psychiatrist already; think you’ll avoid them forever?_ Wait... what if I pretended to take the medications, and tell everybody but Lestrade? It would keep John and Mycroft happy... and get the psychiatrist away. Lestrade didn’t need to know, there was so much the man didn’t know about me, one more thing wouldn’t matter. _Like a policeman like Lestrade wouldn’t find out about the medication taking. And as if Mycroft would miss you pretending to take medications. He’s got this place filled with cameras._ Not in the bathroom...

My phone vibrated on the table, breaking my conversation. I reached over and picked it up, finding that I had a message from Mycroft.

**Lestrade will not stop giving you cases if you take medication. It will help, so take it. – MH**

“Go away Mycroft, go start another world war!” I faced in the vague direction of a camera, wishing he’d shut up and leave me alone. He’d done enough to stick his massive nose into my business, I didn’t need any more.

**Boring Sherlock. Text John the good news and try out that sleeping pill. – MH**

Asshole. _He’ll tell Lestrade and he won’t let you go near another case!_ I shuddered at the sing-song voice, reminding me too much of Moriarty for my liking. That was not a can of worms I was opening right now, if ever. But especially not before bed, which I should have probably made an effort with, considering that John had pointed it out today.

So, I went to the backroom, checking all over for cameras, before flushing a pill down the toilet. _Just keep doing that, nobody will know._ _Just keep on flushing the pills and pretending to be better, act more human than ever. Nobody will know the difference._

I got ready for bed in the bathroom, before crawling into bed with my blanket, hoping tonight would be easier than last night. Maybe because John had touched me, and I was wrapped in my blanket, I would sleep better. I hadn’t had a caring touch before; I hoped it would help me sleep easier. Not nightmare free, that was never happening, but maybe I could sleep a little longer before memories hit me like a freight train. Maybe, just maybe, it would be a bit better, because John had put his hand on my shoulder like a friend.

_“Goodbye John.” I threw the phone away, trying so hard not to shake. This was it, I was dying, going into untold danger. Oh God what was I thinking?! But I couldn’t back out now, I had to fall. Right now._

_I spread my arms and fell._

_“SHERLOCK!”_

I woke up with a start, entire body shaking and sweating uncontrollably. Not The Fall, God not dreaming about The Fall. Not John calling my name like that, not watching him grab my arm to feel a pulse and collapse in shock. No, not that, anything but hearing John's pain again, feeling all that fear either. _That was mild compared to most nights, what the hell are you on about?_ The other pain I could forget about! I could remind myself that it was over, that that wasn’t happening now.  But with John, oh I could remember the pain he had felt, the anger and distrust he felt towards me right now. It hurt to know I hurt him like that. I didn’t want to remember that, didn’t want to remember the entire ordeal. I just wanted to sleep.

Not happening. _Unless you take the pills!_ God no. I was not going to take them and ruin my brain function. It wasn’t functioning like I wanted it to as it was, I wasn’t making that worse by making it sluggish and sleep filled. Who knew what I’d do without complete control over myself. I’d been in control while high, but drugged half asleep, I shuddered to think how I’d be. _Oh yeah, wander round like that and you’ll definitely get chucked into a psych ward._ Thanks for that.

I gave up on sleep and decided to just lay in bed instead, not even bothering to drag myself out of bed. It wasn’t like John was coming round until the afternoon/evening time. It was only four in the morning. There was no point in getting up. I was just going to lay here, just like I usually did when John wasn’t here. I usually hid in my room, until about an hour before John got here, when I got ready and made myself presentable and normal looking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for all the comments/kudos! :D As always, concrit is welcomed with open arms!


	69. Chapter 69

68 Sherlock's POV

I timed the day perfectly so I rolled out of bed an hour before John was due to arrive. An hour was generally enough time to shower, calm down and make myself look like I was at least half together and with it. I wouldn’t have bothered, but I had promised to look normal for John, so that was what I was doing, dressing like normal, making an effort with myself so I didn’t look like I’d just crawled out of bed. I severely doubted he had enjoyed seeing me unwashed and in pyjamas like a slob. He was a guest in the flat, _because he doesn’t live here anymore,_ yes, like I didn’t already know that, and therefore I had to look presentable at the least for him. It’s what normal people did. They looked presentable for guests, and tidied their flats up too. But seeing as I didn’t really go anywhere but my bedroom in the flat, I didn’t see the point.

_You could move his chair into the front room again._ But John’s chair didn’t... The chair wasn’t going back into the front room; it had too many connotations stuck to it. The chair symbolised our unity as friends, to put it back in the front room with mine, it would send the message that I thought that we were friends again. Or possibly make John think that I thought he was moving back in. Neither of which was happening. He had his own place now, the space he craved and a life outside of me, he wasn’t moving back in. The chair was staying in my room, out of the way of our new... whatever we were. _Don’t think of the connotations of the chair being in **your** room though. That sends all sorts of signals. _Oh John knew that I craved his companionship, it wasn’t that much of a leap to think I’d want a part of him close. He didn’t care as long as I didn’t push him into anything. _John thinks you’re a machine with no emotions. Why the hell would he think that you craved his companionship?_ Mycroft told him, that’s why. Shut up now, I had things to do.

The shower was the same anxiety inducing experience, but I was getting better with it. I just had to breathe, remember that I was doing this for a reason, that John was coming over soon so I _couldn’t_ panic. Shoving my mental state in John's face was _really_ going to push him away, or add another point to the ‘List Of Reasons Why Sherlock Should Be Sectioned’ that _someone_ had to be keeping. Especially after that visit to the psychiatrist. I shuddered, never again. Never, ever again would I be repeating _that_ experience. Too many emotions, too many fingers poking around in my head, not a nice place in there, best stay _far_ away.

_It’s inevitable really. But for now carry on acting like nothing is wrong. Try to save yourself from the psych ward for the sixth time. What’s next in the routine? You’ve showered._ Now I should get dressed in a nice suit, complete with shoes and socks in case of a crime scene or meal out situation, then dry and style my hair. Then it was a matter of setting myself up in the front room in a way that didn’t look suspicious, like I’d been out and about all day, doing... well whatever John thought it was that I was doing. _Not sulking like a pathetic baby._ I was not sulking, I was... I was hiding from social interaction, gathering strength to be with John. _That is truly pathetic._ I didn’t care! It was how I was coping, I was told to cope, and this was me coping! This was my new routine, my new equilibrium with the world, stop trying to mess with it!

I ignored the exhausting voice and continued with my routine, dressing in a nice suit (still a bit big on me, the shirt buttons actually fitting properly) and sorting out my hair the best I could. It was getting too long again, but I couldn’t be bothered to get it cut. That would involve wandering around in public and interacting with even more people. And letting someone near me with scissors. _No thanks to that._ Yeah, no thanks to that. I didn’t trust people near me with sharp objects, sharp objects generally lead to stabbing and cutting and _pain._ If I could avoid that for the rest of my life, I’d be a rather happy person. _Not really, you still have to deal with the fact you hate bathing and showering, everything around you can be seen as a weapon **and** the fact that you can’t even sleep without suffering from bad memories you can’t stop yourself thinking about. _Oh whatever, I was getting to that! This arguing was getting to me, making me want to drop from consciousness for a few hours. All of it was just so exhausting, arguing with my own brain like I could beat myself. _Highly unlikely._

My phone ringing made me jump, and for a second I hoped that it was John calling to say he wasn’t coming, so I could go back to bed and try to rest a bit, but found instead it was Molly. _Shit._ I’d forgotten that she’d wanted to go out for a meal or something. What did I say if she asked again? Could I really deny her after she’d helped me so much with The Fall, but I _really_ didn’t know if I could cope with it all. The people, the noise, trying to make nice conversation with her when we were both socially incapable of it. _At least she’s engaged, so she’s not going to be making a move on you._

“H-Hello?” I managed to answer the phone before it stopped ringing. Why had she rung? Couldn’t she have texted like everyone else? I preferred texts; they were less intrusive, less demanding of attention. _More open to interpretation. One word. Milk._ Oh we were _not_ talking about the milk joke!

“H-Hi Sherlock. Sorry to bother you but I just... I just wanted to tell you that there’s an interesting new specimen in the morgue. It’s a removed tumour, weighs over a pound! I thought, well, that you and John may have liked to take a look at it? Because, he’s on the scene now, and you got banned from crime scenes.” I winced at her words. I didn’t want to remember the damn crime scene ban; I didn’t have a clue how to entertain John without them. And while big tumours sounded fun to dissect, John didn’t enjoy my experiments, not even on human body parts, despite the fact that he was a doctor.

_Now be nice in turning her down, she’s trying to do you a favour._ “It sounds great Molly, but, but I can’t really come down. There’s a... I just don’t think I can come down I’m afraid.” Nice, simple, to the point. Not outright lying, not the truth either. Usually worked too, only lies had detail, and I wasn’t even lying, just bending the truth a little.

“Oh.” _Disappointment and shock there,_ “Okay, sorry, I just thought you’d like to come down. It’s been a while since you’ve come down to the lab, and I was also thinking we could talk together too. Dinner was, well it was a bit stupid. I thought that maybe hanging out in the lab would be more appropriate for us, you. I mean... you’re usually more at home in lab than anywhere else, so we’d be better...” Molly trailed off.

“I understand what you mean Molly. But I don’t think I can today, maybe some other time though?” That was nice, right? Not flat out denying anything ever happening, giving hope for anything time, that was good of me?

“Yeah, sure, of course! Want me to save some of the sample for your own tests? Or any other body parts I can find?” Molly sounded eager to please again.

“Erm, no, not right now. Thanks for the offer though.” I sighed, wishing I could bury myself in some testing of eyeballs or something right now. But I _couldn’t._ Experiments left messes and usually made the flat smell, John and Mrs Hudson wouldn’t approve. Neither of them liked my experiments, Mrs Hudson had said so at my grave two years ago, I wasn’t about to subject either of them to experiments again. And anyway, what was there to test? How long it took for an eyeball to burn? I’d done that before, done it all before. I didn’t have any ideas. I didn’t have any ideas for _anything._ I just wanted to sleep quietly with no nightmares right now, and have the sleeping pill advice left well alone. All medication advice left well alone actually.

Soon I heard the sounds of John coming up the stairs, he was on the phone. “Yeah, damn. Alright, I’ll talk to him... No, I did get him to think about taking the pills though; I don’t know the outcome... Yeah, yeah I’ll see if I can get him down to the lab. Tumour you say? Damn, I’m surprised he stayed away... That’s true... I’ll text you to let you know. Bye Molly.” Then he opened the door.

Was _everyone_ talking about me behind my back?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments/kudos :D  
> I'm officially on half term for five weeks from today! Horray! But I still have 2 creative portfolios to write, along with one commentary and an essay, so I've got to handle them during the time off. It shouldn't affect update times though!


	70. Chapter 70

69 Sherlock's POV

Two hours later, we found ourselves heading towards the St Bart’s lab. I had wanted to go, but didn’t want John to be bored, but had been persuaded by him into going. He’d seemed insistent, probably because of the phone call he’d had with Molly, I couldn’t really disappoint him when he was so insistent of it. There was probably a big plan being put into place, and while I _hated_ being micromanaged and having everybody planning my day for me, I couldn’t exactly say no. John looked so hopeful that I’d say yes, and I did guess it stopped us from sitting around in awkward silence.

But now I was on the way to St Bart’s lab, praying that this wasn’t a mistake. I hadn’t been back to the hospital since The Fall, and I didn’t know about John. Let alone the last time we’d been there _together,_ I’d sent John away, thinking I didn’t care about Mrs Hudson being shot. _This is going to be awkwardddddddddd!_ No, no, no awkwardness. We’d go to another lab, yeah, yeah, another lab. Not the same one we were in when we- subject change, subject change! **Deep breath. Think of Redbeard. He’ll be in the lab with us, sleeping by your feet, just like he used to. Won’t that be nice? Redbeard, John, Molly and a lab to play in!**

Optimism and make believe _not helping right now!_ I could see the top of the building, the ledge I’d been standing on, looking down on the pavement, all those people milling about. All homeless network obviously, but _still._ And John had been standing at the bottom, while Moriarty lay dead on the roof, his brain blown out of his head. _Remember the sound of the gunshot, realising that Moriarty was dead, that you were going to have to jump! Remember the panic, the realisation that you were going to have to jump, to lie, to **have that phone call.**_ No, no, wasn’t thinking about it, was definitely not thinking about it. It was just a hospital, just a damn hospital. Not my jump site, not the place where everything went wrong. Nope. No way. Normal place, normal place, just a normal place. **Hold it together man!  Hydrogen, Helium, Lithium, Beryllium, Manganese.**

“Sherlock, you alright?” John asked, I pretended I didn’t jump feet at the sound of his voice.

“Fine. Just fine.” I lied, forcing my breathing into regularity. _He’ll see that you’re scared and think you’re pathetic! It’s bad enough you’re bringing him **here,** let alone having a panic attack too! If anybody should be having a panic attack, it’s John! _I was not going to have a panic attack! I was going to be fine. Just fine. **Iron, Cobalt, Nickel, Oxygen, Fluorine.**

“St Bart’s, that’ll be fifteen quid mate.” The cabbie pulled up outside the hospital, near enough to the same spot John’s cab had parked when he got out as I pho- _no._ I _was not_ thinking about that right now! It was over, it was all over.

**_“This phone call, it’s um, it’s my note. It’s what people do, don’t they? Leave a note.”_ **

**_“Oh I may be on the side of the angels, but don’t think for one second that I am one of them.”_ **

**_“Nobody could be that clever.” “You could.”_ **

No, no, no, no, NO! I didn’t want to hear this! I didn’t want to remember this, no! Go away, please!

**_“You machine!”_ **

My lungs constricted, my legs feeling unsteady, the never ending voices of that damn day pounding through my head on such high volume it drowned out nearly everything else.

“Sherlock, Sherlock can you hear me?” _You can’t breathe again, just like in Serbia! And John’s going to find out and dump you in some psych ward because you’re too damn broken you can’t even enter a **hospital** without freaking out! _

**_“The newspapers were right all along. I want you to tell Lestrade, I want you to tell Mrs. Hudson and Molly, in fact tell anyone who will listen to you... that I created Moriarty for my own purposes.”_ **

No, no, this wasn’t happening. Really _was not_ happening right now! I was, I was just...

_What if John remembers everything you said up on that roof, everything that Moriarty said about you? What if he starts remembering that you told him you were a fake. He’ll definitely leave then. Because you won’t be useful then. You won’t be useful to **anyone** then. And we all know what happens to useless machines don’t we? They get **scrapped.**_ No! Please God no! Stop it, stop talking right now! Just stop!

**_“You’re insane.” “You’re only just getting that now?”_ **

“Sherlock, calm down, I’m not doing anything. Take a deep breath for me, come on, deep breath and sit down. It’s going to be okay, just slowly sit down, that’s it. Now breathe okay? Just breathe.” John was saying somewhere distantly. _Right there was where you officially died. Three feet away. John took your pulse three feet away while you played dead. Right. Over. There._

“Can’t breathe, can’t breathe. Need to breathe. Can’t breathe.” I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t! _Serbia! Water boarding was **so** much fun, wasn’t it? You nearly died several times! It’s a miracle you didn’t get brain damage... wait a minute, you did, because you’re **broken.**_

“Yes you can, you can breathe. Breathe with me okay? Come on, breathe in... and out, in... and out.” I couldn’t, I couldn’t follow it, there was too much, it was all too much! _People are staring, you’re causing a scene! You’re going to be put away in a psych ward! Stop freaking out over a damn pavement!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for all the comments and the kudos! :D   
> Also thanks to Nita for beta reading :)


	71. Chapter 71

70 Mycroft's POV                      

“Sir, you’re going to want to see this.” Anthea popped her head through the door, this time not texting.

“Is it the Korean’s again?” I had a sneaking suspicion that it was actually Sherlock. I severely hoped that whatever it was wasn’t to do with Sherlock, he’d been doing so much better since John arrived. They were on the rocks, but slowly working themselves together, with help from certain detective inspectors and landladies, and some... _helpful pokes_ in the right direction from myself.

“No, they’re fine currently. It’s Sherlock; he went to St Bart’s.” Anthea didn’t have to say anything more.

“Another panic episode then? Was John with him, and where is he now?”

 I abandoned my work in favour of putting my jacket back on. Clearly Sherlock was going to need some paperwork forged before he made a very big scene at a hospital. Specifically, the hospital he jumped from. While I was completely in agreement of my brother getting out of danger and with a lot of qualified doctors who could look after and care for him at all hours, putting him in St Bart’s was the worst plan possible. Another hospital sure, not St Bart’s. And that was even if I could get him to agree to therapy after that last session.

“John is with him at the hospital, I’m afraid Sherlock passed out after his panic attack and the doctors insisted on looking him over. Current reports are saying he’s suffering from lack of nutrition and sleep deprivation, which didn’t help matters with this latest episode.” Anthea explained as we headed towards the car, the driver having already been informed of where he had to go.

She updated me with Sherlock’s condition every time his chart got updated on the ride, though nothing much happened. There were just reports of vitals and the fluids doctors were giving him to help his body along with healing. Stupidly, I wished that all of the problems my poor brother was having were to do with lack of sleep and nutrition, but I highly doubted it, not considering everything that was happening. I was going to be having a very tough conversation today, I could tell.

Upon arriving at the hospital, I was met with a pacing John Watson outside Sherlock’s room, twisting his hands round in agitation.

“Mycroft! I didn’t call... You know everything though... I forget you’re the government.” John laughed nervously, glancing back at the door.

“This wasn’t me by the way! Totally wasn’t me, I tried to help, honestly I did! But Sherlock was panicking and I couldn’t, I just couldn’t stop him, I tried my best but he wasn’t responding well or breathing properly. He just passed out! I hadn’t meant for this to happen, but it just did! I’m sorry!” John started babbling, and while it was really quite funny to watch the man trying to shake blame off of him so I didn’t kill him, I really had to talk to my brother.

“Doctor Watson, I fully understand that this time, you are not at fault for Sherlock’s latest episode. You did admirably well in the situation, now please either move aside or come in so I can see my brother.” I ordered, glaring at the man.

“Okay, okay, sorry. I’ll just... wait out here... He’s not awake though. Doctor’s said that he’s sleep deprived.” John explained, twisting his hands around.

“I’ve understood that, we have the reports. Now that could be something that I could attribute to you and your lack to care for my brother.” I glared at him as I entered the hospital room.

Sherlock was lying in bed, looking far too small for it. Blankets were tucked lightly round him, though I noticed that nobody had taken his shirt off him, had instead opened it to stick heart monitors on his chest and put in IV’s. Somehow, Sherlock looked even paler than normal, and possibly even dead. Mummy was not going to be pleased to find out about this, maybe I could stop her from finding out until Sherlock was out of hospital... He wasn’t very good in hospitals as it was, without our mother hovering around him and giving another lecture about self care.

“You can’t attribute his lack of sleep to me! I’m not with him at all hours of the day! I’m doing my best here, but I’ve never got him to bed and you know it! I haven’t been around when he’s gone to bed. How am I supposed to get him to go to bed exactly?!” John growled, thankfully not waking my brother with shouting.

“Well try harder, he’s just collapsed. So try harder. You are literally the only thing keeping Sherlock out of a mental health facility, so you better come up with a better strategy looking after him, or I will be taking him away to get help. If it comes to that, you will not be surviving the repercussions.” I hissed at the short man, he gulped in fear.

“Now look scared and leave. Start thinking about how you’re going to be taking better care of my brother.  Do not disappoint me.”

He quickly made his way out of the room.

Anthea stayed, but she always did, in case of emergency. Also, she knew better than to repeat anything that happened in this room to anybody, so I trusted her to stay.

I sat down on the edge of the bed, observing my little brother up close. He did look incredibly tired, deep purple bruises under his eyes standing out further against his deathly pale skin. An IV was attached to his arm, feeding him the medications the doctors had ordered, and I expected that there was a small sedative in there too, just to keep him under, though not enough that he couldn’t fight it.

The scene reminded me of a similar situation from years ago, Sherlock had been only fourteen years old. He’d collapsed at school from exhaustion, because he hadn’t slept in four days, or eaten in longer. Redbeard had been put down a few months before and I’d revealed the truth about the matter to him just a month before. He’d taken it so hard, absolutely certain that our parents and I had killed him maliciously out of spite for him, and had refused to talk to any of us since. Our parents hadn’t wanted to send him back to school because of it, as he hadn’t left his room since he found out, but had sent him back to Harrow so they didn’t disrupt his routine. We’d all thought that school would possibly snap him out of it, possibly force him to learn how to talk to others out of loneliness, and instead been informed that he’d collapsed. It turned out that the stupid boy had thrown himself into studying to distract himself from the grief he’d felt at the loss of his canine best friend, sneaking into the science labs at night to do experiments and forgetting to eat entirely.

At the hospital Sherlock had looked similar to how he did now, tiny in the bed, almost grey skinned, curls managing to look almost lifeless as they flopped back on the pillow. All caused by despair and emotional pain he didn’t know how to deal with. Stupid really, the boy usually rejected the ridiculous notion of feelings and insisted he didn’t have any, when really he was an emotional storm with no outlet, so it all just boiled over and caused things like this to happen.

“Anthea, see to it that Sherlock gets the best care here, even if it means keeping him unconscious the entire time so he doesn’t cause himself more trouble. When he is physically healthy, make sure that he is given sleeping medications, as well as anti-depressants and anti-anxiety pills. He is only allowed to leave under the care of Doctor Watson, who will be checked up on weekly by another qualified professional to make sure he is doing his job correctly. If a report comes in to say that Sherlock has landed himself in a hospital again with injuries not induced by crime solving, see to it that he is transferred to a secure facility where he can recover properly under competent doctors.” I ordered, reaching out to gently touch my brother’s cheek, wishing I could take away all this pain from him.

But I couldn’t. Though I could help him by giving him proper care. John had one more chance with me to make Sherlock better, if he did anything that I saw as unacceptable in any way, he was out of Sherlock’s life forever, and Sherlock himself would be taken somewhere that could help him. It was the only thing I could do to help my baby brother, and while he would not appreciate the interference, I was not about to stand here and let him suffer needlessly. His suffering ended now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments/kudos! :D   
> As always, my twitter is @corruptedpov, my tumblr is effulgentcorruptedpov and if you're interested in me wittering on about writing and stuff my vlog channel is mydreamsofwriting! :)


	72. Chapter 72

71 John's POV                                           

I was very nearly terrified as Mycroft emerged from Sherlock’s hospital room. I didn’t have a clue what he would do now. Sherlock had had a panic attack and landed himself in hospital while I was with him, while doing something I’d convinced him to do. But I’d only been trying to get him out of the house, trying to cheer him up a little. I hadn’t thought about the fact we were going to St Bart’s. If I’d thought about it, I would have never made him come out. Now Mycroft was pissed, and I dreaded to think exactly what he could do to me because I’d failed Sherlock...

“He, he’s going to be okay. After he’s had some rest and everything, then he’s going to be okay. It won’t happen again, I’ll make sure of it, I promise.” I nearly stuttered out, wishing I had more confidence against the government official. I used to have it, but now, after screwing up with Sherlock so much recently, I barely had a leg to stand on. I’d messed with Mycroft’s precious little brother; he wouldn’t forgive me lightly for it.

I should have realised that Sherlock would have had a panic attack because of the memories of The Fall. Why didn’t I realise?! I was just trying to cheer him up with some experiments, how did I forget that St Bart’s was where he fell from? I’d had so many issues with even going _passed_ the hospital for _months_ after Sherlock jumped? How did I make such a huge error with Sherlock!? I felt so damn _stupid_ for doing this to my poor friend.

“I know. We have the medical reports, which is good for your future. But you have failed my brother by allowing him to continue with his destructive behaviour, so badly so that he’s landed himself in _hospital_. Now you’re lucky in the fact that I've arrived here so I can make some arrangements so this trip can be as gentle on Sherlock as possible, as he _doesn’t cope well with hospitals_. Sherlock is remaining under light sedation to keep him _calm_ and, once he’s allowed home, he’ll be given sleeping and anti-anxiety medications.” Mycroft explained. Oh this didn’t sound good...

“Okay, I’ll make sure he takes them. Promise, no problem with that!” I could make sure Sherlock took medications and anything he needed.

“Of course you will, because you’ll be moving back in again with my brother. You will leave your flat and move back into two hundred and twenty one B Baker Street, with no moaning, no complaining. In doing this, you’ll make sure my brother takes medication, sleeps as needed, eats as needed, does not have another panic attack or anything as serious ever again.” Mycroft ordered ... Moving back in?

“You want me to move back in again?” I asked, that... I hadn’t thought Mycroft would ask that.

“Yes, I want you to move back into Sherlock’s flat to look after him _properly._ My brother, for whatever stupid reason, actually _listens_ to you even after your past discrepancies.”

I winced at that.                        

“So you’re going to be his friend and his doctor again, and properly this time. I expect no mistakes this time, either, so you better get this right, for your sake as well as Sherlock’s. If I find my brother back in hospital for anything not case related, I will not hesitate in making you public enemy number one.” Mycroft hissed, turned and left. Shit. Oh _shit._

Okay, okay, moving back in wouldn’t be too bad, would it? No, couldn’t be that bad, just moving back into the flat. I could do that, we’d been surviving being together again in the evenings, being back in the flat all the time shouldn’t be too much problem.

“A removal van will be sent tomorrow to pick up your things to be moved. You can still work but other than that, you will be with Holmes the younger at all times. Good day.” Anthea typed as she spoke before following her boss.

Right, right, okay. Move anything I needed into Baker Street tomorrow, it wouldn’t be that hard, wouldn’t be much different from normal. I would just wake up in the morning and sleep at Baker Street now, not too much different from what had been going on. It would be just like living there before... before everything happened. Sherlock would just be quieter, and in need of looking after more, and more damaged that before. That would be tough, but I could do it. I could do it, couldn’t I? Yeah, yeah ... I think. I’d just failed with this though. I’d, like an idiot, forgotten that Sherlock wouldn’t react well to being in St Bart’s right now after all he went through there. What else could I screw up? I could screw up everything really badly if I wasn't careful. Oh God this wasn't going to be easy!

And anyway, would Sherlock want me to move back in again? I didn’t know. He was so different; would he even want me back? Mycroft seemed to think so, and he knew Sherlock better than I did right now. At the same time though, what if he was wrong about it? What if Sherlock didn’t want me back in the flat? How was I going to break this to him? And what I was going to do if he completely refused? I couldn’t just move in without his permission...

I was just going to have to insist, it was all I could do. Insist and reassure Sherlock that things wouldn’t be different from before. He liked similar things, sticking to routines and such. Maybe making sure Sherlock knew that things weren’t going to change, that we’d continue things just like normal, that would calm him down. And maybe, with light sedation, he’d be a bit more amenable, slightly calm with me.

I could only hope that was true, and that this wasn’t going to blow up in my face. I couldn’t handle Sherlock and Mycroft’s wrath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments/kudos. It's all been taken on board and I'll move a few things round when needs be later on in this fic. :)


	73. Chapter 73

72 Sherlock's POV

I surfaced slowly, my head feeling like it was filled with cotton wool as I opened my eyes to bright fluorescent lights and the sound of beeping. Wait... beeping, fluorescent buzzing lights, chest and arms felt itchy, cotton wool brain... I wasn’t at home, I was... I was in a hospital! After the panic attack! Shit, please God no, not another hospital, not another one. I couldn’t deal with it; I couldn’t be in another facility, not again!

I rushed to sit up and escape, but hands grabbed my arms and shoved me back down into the bed.

“Whoa there, slow down Sherlock! It’s just me, it’s John. You’re okay, you’re okay.” John was here?

“John?” I didn’t... what was he here for?

“Yeah, it’s me, just relax a little okay? I’m going to let go of your arms when I finish talking, and if you can lie still, I’ll explain what’s happening, alright? Can you do stay calm for me?” I nodded at his question, despite not wanting too. I couldn’t be in hospital; I never fared well in them. The rooms were too bright, it smelt horrible, the bedding was too stiff and itchy, it was a nightmare.

**Buzzzzz, buzzzz, scratchy bed sheet as hand moved.**

“Good,” John let me go; I dared to look at him, even though I didn’t want to see the look on his face. I’d had a full scale meltdown in front of him, landed myself here _again;_ I didn’t even want to think about what he thought of me right now. “Now what’s the last thing you remember?” He asked, he didn’t look that put out...

“We, we were outside Bart’s. I, I had a, well... you know.” Shame piled on top of my chest, wishing that John hadn’t seen that, I really hadn’t wanted him to see that. I’d tried to hide it from him, tried to make it seem like I was normal, now I’d just hit him in the face with just how abnormal and different I was.

**Footsteps on tiled floor. Buzzzzzz, beep, beep, beep.**

“A panic attack,” I winced, “Which caused you to pass out, because you couldn’t breathe properly. Us doctors thought it was best to bring you in for observation, make sure nothing too bad was going on in that big brain of yours. Turns out you’ve not been sleeping or eating that well... How much sleep have you been having recently? Mrs Hudson was saying that you’ve spent most of your days in bed.” John leant forward, arms resting on his knees, concerned doctor look plastered to his face.

“A-About the same amount as always.”  I lied, now that I thought about it; I didn’t even know how long I slept most days. Probably an hour or two here and there. Not long either way.

“Right. How about eating, you know, when I’m not around, have you bothered feeding yourself when I’m not around?” John asked, he borderline condescending as he spoke, it put my teeth on edge.

**Buzzzz, beep, buzzzz, buzzzz, beep. Footsteps. Itchy, itchy, itchy.**

“Sometimes.” I shrugged to his answer, figuring it was better to come up with a believable lie instead of a huge one. _So much for being more human. Human beings remember to eat and sleep._

“Same as always then?” John smiled a little, it was the first genuine smile I’d seen on him in what seemed like forever, “But this time Sherlock, it’s not a good thing to do, alright? You worried us all by passing out like that; you’ve got to look after yourself better.” John took a deep breath, “Which is why I’m going to be moving back in again. Now before you start, it’s for your own good. You need someone to look after you and I’m the one who’s most qualified for the job, it’s already been settled between me, Mycroft and Mrs Hudson. I’ll obviously still have to go to the surgery and such, but I’ll be around a whole lot more now, making sure that you’re looking after yourself. That includes sleeping, eating, and medication. The doctors are really insisting on you taking some medication to help with the sleeping and the anxiety, and they’re genuinely going to help.” John made more panic fly through my chest.

**Buzzzzzz, beep, footstep. Beep, buzzzzz, lights getting too bright, buzzzzz. Beep. Phone ringing.**

“You can’t move back in!” He couldn’t move back in again! He’d see, he’d find out everything! The nightmares, the stimming, all the panicked moments, he couldn’t move back in! It would be a disaster! _And medication? Really? You’re literally a step away from the psych ward now, and just think, those medications are going to make you slow, ruin your brain function. You can’t be the great Sherlock Holmes while half asleep with impaired senses_. NO!

**Beep. Buzzzz. Footsteps. Talking. Talking. Footsteps. Squeaking shoes on** **the floor. Nails catching in the blanket.**

“Hey, hey slow down, take it easy!” John pushed me back into bed, “I know it’s a big change and everything, but it’s a good one, I promise. It’ll be just like before, when we used to live together, and frankly, I can’t wait for it. We’ll be fine together again. And if it’s the pills you’re so worried about, they’re not going to stop brain function, and you’ll still be you. You’ll still be deducing and solving crimes and experimenting. You’ll just be better rested and calmer, which is exactly what we all want, and is what is best for you.”

“No, you don’t understand! You really can’t move back in!” It wasn’t okay; none of it was going to be okay! John couldn’t hear the nightmares, couldn’t see the stimming, and couldn’t see me taking pills. It wasn’t right, he’d leave, and he’d leave me because I was freak, a broken machine. My nightmares would play havoc with his and this time I couldn’t play violin to calm him down because he didn’t want to hear it and I couldn’t pretend to be normal for that long to pass under the radar of suspicion and it wasn’t going to end well I didn’t want to be alone I didn’t want to be alone!

**Buzzzzzzz, buzzzzzzzzz, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, footsteps. Squeak, squeak, squeak, buzzzz, squeak. Phone ringing. Talking, talking, beep, talking, buzz. Scratching blanket over chest.**

“Breathe Sherlock, breathe. Don’t have another panic attack, it’s alright. We’ll talk about it later, okay? You’ll be fine I promise. Just breathe; I know the hospital is freaking you out a bit, but its okay.” John kept on and on, whispering promises all the while. But I couldn’t do this! I couldn’t let him back into the flat, not to live with me!

_He’ll find out everything and leave! Or he’ll mention it to Lestrade and he’ll kick you off consulting because your brain doesn’t work anymore! What if the rest of the Yard find out? Anderson and Donovan will **never** let you live it down. The Freak on pills to function normally, they’ll have a field day!_ No, God no! Leave me alone, I could handle it! I could handle all of it! I just needed some time! _You say that constantly, it does **nothing.** You’re spiralling a drain, soon you’re falling through that drain and you’ll be back in the dark world of psychiatric facilities. And this time, you’ll **never** leave._

“Nurse, I think he’s having a sensory overload, could you help him a little?” John asked somewhere, the sound of shoes on tiled floor echoing horribly through my head, mixing with the buzzing lights and the beeping and so much talking.

Then, the whole world slowly slipped away, everything going back to a calming blackness.

**Beep,** **buzz,** **beep** **, buzz.** **Footsteps.** **Talking,** **phone ri-**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments/kudos again :)  
> Looks like on ao3 I can't change font size, which sucks :/ All the bold 'beep, buzz' etc slowly got bigger and bigger until the last one where each word got smaller. Damn it ao3!


	74. Chapter 74

73 Sherlock’s POV

No matter what I said, or tried to do, John would not take no for an answer. All he did was say placating things and promise that it would all be fine. But it wasn’t going to be okay! John moving back in was going to be a nightmare for us both! I couldn’t hide much when John lived in the flat too, he’d check I’d taken the medication I was prescribed, overhear my screaming nightmares, see everything wrong with me. I could barely hide it for a few hours a day when he came round, how did I deal with him living in the flat, being around all the time? I couldn’t do it, not again. No matter how much I wanted him to be around more often; John _couldn’t_ be around all the time. He’d see too much, far too much and then he’d leave.

I’d do anything to make sure he didn’t leave, but doing what I’d thought he’d want, refusing repeatedly his offer of moving in, didn’t seem to be working. John just kept on insisting, not understanding why I was so against the idea. He just thought that I was reacting against the stress of being in hospital, and that I needed some time to adjust to the idea. But I _didn’t._ I knew that living together was what I wanted more than anything, but we couldn’t, it would be a complete disaster.  
  
Two terrible days of being trapped in hospital later, I was allowed home, on the verge on a nervous breakdown from stress. Nearly three days of constant beeping, footsteps, tile squeaks and buzzing lights had nearly fried my brain. How did others stand it? It made me want to rip my skin and ears off to make it all stop; I did not honestly understand how the hell anybody survived hospital trips of more than five minutes. The only reason why I survived this time was because I’d been knocked out for most of it. If I hadn’t been, or if one more thing had come in to stress me out, like Mummy turning up for a visit, I would have screamed and had an even worse meltdown.  
  
  _Is that even possible? You had a massive meltdown in front of John outside the hospital, and had a further three panic attacks while inside. There’s no way to have a worse meltdown. Well, there is, but it’ll land you in the psych ward even quicker, possibly with an even harder lock down._  
  
Shut up, quiet time was needed. I needed to concentrate on acting normal. Just like I’d been taught when I was younger, just like when I was passing as normal. _Yeah, passing for normal. You’re not normal. Shut up!_ _  
_  
“Now I’ve moved most of the stuff I’ll need at the flat over already. So there’s no need for anymore moving stuff. What d’ya fancy for dinner tonight? I’m thinking Chinese, like we used to.” John sounded nervous as he spoke in the taxi, bordering on babbling to fill the silence. But why was he nervous? _He’s moving back in with **you,** why do you think he’s nervous? _ This was a terrible idea, whose idea was it anyway? Probably Mycroft’s idea, it usually was when things like this changed. He probably thought I needed a live in carer, or at least a doctor to keep me in a medication fuelled haze so I didn’t cause any trouble _. Just one step away from the psych ward lockdown. Psych ward light if you will._ I was not taking damn medications! I was refusing on every single level imaginable.  
  
“Sherlock, are you listening at all?” John asked, hand briefly touching my arm.  
  
“Yes, of course. Chinese for dinner sounds fun.” I answered, not wanting to talk right now. I didn’t want anything of what was happening right now. At this very moment in time, all I wanted to do was crawl into my own bed and sit in perfect silence for a few hours, possibly days. My head was pounding from all the noise of the hospital, the smell of it still burning my nose, skin still itchy from the feeling of the blankets. I needed to wipe it from memory, needed recovery time so I felt like I could breathe again.  
  
“Alright, you look a little lost though, is everything okay with you? Are you still worrying about me moving back in again, because it’s not going to change anything you know. It’s going to be just like when we used to live together, before... well, _before._ ” We both winced at the mention, “Nothing is going to be different from then, and it’ll be the two of us against the rest of the world again. I’d have thought you would have been excited at the idea.” John recovered well, he had no idea how much I wished it would be just like before. _But it won’t be, will it? Nothing is going to be the same again. It’s going to be hell. No more stimming, no more sleeping attempts without pills, pill dodging like the plague. And even more acting ‘fine’ than usual, no breakdowns while alone, no lying in bed all day, just constant pretending. Twenty four hours a day. Seven days a week._ _  
_  
“I...” I didn’t have anything to say to that really. I would have loved for things to go back to how they were, but explain why they wouldn’t do anything to change the now inevitable future. I had to grin and bear it, that was all I could do. Grin, bear it and hope to God it all didn’t go pear shaped.  
  
“It’s going to be _fine_ Sherlock, stop worrying so much. You’ll adjust soon enough, and it’s not like this is a completely new arrangement, it’s just like before. You’ll still have some alone time if that’s what you’re worried about, I’ve still got clinic duties to attend to and such, so you can still have your alone time if that’s what you’re worried about. I’m still open for experiments to take over the table and violin concerts at three in the morning; you don’t have to change a thing for me. We’re going to be just like before; nothing is going to be wildly different. It may take a few days to get used to, but we’re going to get there, I promise.” How could John have this much faith in this going well? How could he possibly think that this was going to end up fine?  
  
_He doesn’t have a choice, look at his body language, he’s nervous. He’s been put up to this by Mycroft; he doesn’t want to live with you. All he’s doing is keeping big brother happy, in the vain hope he’ll get some more adrenaline rushes out of this arrangement. It’s going to end in tears and a psych ward for you. No matter how normal you act, you’re not going to be able to survive this. So either just give up now and accept the fate of the psych ward, or act normal until you snap. At least with that option you can pretend you had a fun few days/weeks of freedom before you’re chucked into a high security facility, never to be let out again._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments/kudos! :D


	75. Chapter 75

74 Sherlock's POV

“Oh John, it’s so good to know you’re moving back in again!” Mrs Hudson greeted John as we opened the door, bustling over to give him a hug, “And you need to take more care of yourself young man! A lady my age can’t take more scares like that!” She turned to me, giving me a hug of surprising strength.

“Sorry.” I didn’t really know what else to say for scaring her; it wasn’t like I’d _planned_ this to happen! I’d thought I’d be fine going to Bart’s, or at least be able to hide my panic, I hadn’t expected to have a full blown panic attack! _You should have done, it’s what you’re known for now. Massive panic attacks, all the time. Do you realise just how annoying that is? And how much trouble it’s going to get you into now? There’s nowhere to hide anymore, you’re stuck with a **doctor** for a flatmate, he’s going to notice everything! _

“Don’t worry Mrs Hudson; I’m here to take good care of him now. There’ll be no more passing out sessions if I can help it.” John smiled, hand reassuringly resting on our now shared landlady’s arm.

“See to it that you do John, our Sherlock has been put through _far_ too much, and he needs to be looked after.” _Acting like you’re not even in the room, remind you of childhood by any chance?_ No, it didn’t, because I wasn’t bloody ten anymore. “Now don’t forget to phone your mother to tell her you’re home, the poor woman is probably driving herself to distraction with worry!” Mrs Hudson shooed us up the stairs.

“Mycroft is dealing with it, as per usual.” I waved the idea off, because technically it wasn’t a lie. Mycroft was dealing with the parental situation, and by that I meant he wasn’t _telling_ them anything about this mess, so they didn’t come to visit and do something... Well so they just didn’t come and visit. I’d been avoiding so much as talking to them ever since I got back; I wasn’t going to ruin the good streak now. _What? Don’t want to end up screaming again over being overprotected? Don’t want to be flapped about like a child? Being talked to like you’re an idiot? Why ever not? Sounds like great fun to me!_

“Phone her though Sherlock, you _know_ she worries more than that brother of yours does. As does your father.” Mrs Hudson gave me that look that clearly said ‘listen to me, I know best’ _with just a **hint** of ‘you’re an idiot’ don’t you think? _Shut up. Wasn’t listening to this right now!

“Wait, your parents are still alive?” John looked at me in what I guessed was shock.

“Why wouldn’t they be?” I opened the door to my, no _our,_ flat, scanning for any signs of meddling brothers having come in. Looked all the same to me, still as clean as I’d left it three days ago.

“Dunno, you just never mentioned them before, I figured they were dead or something.” John shrugged, _meaning he thought you were a science experiment. Would explain a lot to be honest, you are a freak after all._ Shut up would you?!  

“No, they’re still alive. They’re just...” How did I explain something like this to John? He had a normal family; he hadn’t grown up like I had. _Nobody did. Even **Mycroft** grew up differently, and that’s because he knew how to function like a human being. _

“Ah, bit of a troubled relationship there I’m guessing?” John winced a little as he said it, what the hell was he wincing for? It wasn’t like it affected him...

“I’d rather not talk about it.” I’d rather be hiding under my duvet and pretending that this wasn’t happening at all right now. Just spending the damn morning awake in hospital and having the car ride that seemed to go on forever had exhausted me, could I go back to bed now? _Nope. You have to suffer through the entire day like a normal human being. We’re being normal now aren’t we? Or have you forgotten that thought from just ten minutes ago already?_ No I hadn’t forgotten, I wasn’t stupid. _Yes you are, you got yourself into this mess in the first place._ Fuck.

“Yeah. Best not... Tea?” John offered, at least I could rely on that bit of routine. Every time John came in, he made tea without fail. Every single time. It was slightly calming, to know he was following our usual routines. Routine was good, predictable. Sometimes predictable was very, very good and nice and comforting. _Congratulations, you’re now seven years old again. Want to go crying to **Myckie** now? _

“Yeah, yeah, tea, tea would be good.” **Change the subject, need to change the subject**. But there wasn’t anything else to talk about, I didn’t know what to do, I was lost inside my own damn home!

_How about asking about this new flat share like a normal person, that could be useful._

“How long are you planning on staying?” I winced as I said it, _because **that** sounded **so** nice, didn’t it? Could you have been any blunter? _

“As long as you need it really. We obviously don’t have a time scale, and I’m not really obligated to go anywhere else, so I guess it’s for as long as you need it.” John shrugged again, making himself comfy on the sofa. _Should have moved his chair back in, he’s **living** here now, the chair should be back! Why didn’t you move it back?! _Because I was unconscious in a bloody hospital! How the hell was I supposed to move a damn chair back into place exactly?!

“Hey, it’s okay. Don’t panic, alright? It’s all good; we’re going to be fine. We’ll work it out.” John reassured, _you’re talking out loud again._ No I wasn’t! _Yes, you were, and still are in fact. Should probably stop that if you want to even try to look like a normal human being. Talking to yourself is the first sign of madness you know._ Oh my head hurt already, how long until the end of the day?!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quickest update possible because this week is being mental! Not sure if I'll update on Sunday because I'm out to see my favourite band McBusted that day but I'll try my best! If I can't, I'll update on Monday!


	76. Chapter 76

75 John's POV

Sherlock was talking to himself more than usual, what was I supposed to do right now?! All my medical training said _get him to a psychiatrist immediately_ while Mycroft’s warning to me still rang through at the same time. I couldn’t let on that something was wrong with Sherlock to Sherlock’s face; he had to be treated like normal, so he didn’t feel like he was any different than before.

But he was _talking to himself,_ answering back to something, something that was making him tense up and stress out. What could I do? We had medication from the doctors, which had been ordered directly from Mycroft, but it was too late for them now. Sherlock had to take them every morning with his breakfast, it was already afternoon. Fuck, what did I do?! It felt like all my medical training had flown out the window, because this was _Sherlock_ behaving like this, not another soldier in a panicked war zone, or an injured patient in A&E. Sherlock was so different to anybody else I’d dealt with, there was no actual _cause_ for this, he was home again, he should have been happy to be back!

“It’s okay, you haven’t had time to adjust, we’ll move things round and get them all sorted tomorrow, yeah?” Reassure him, I could do that, or at least try. Maybe if I could just calm him down a little, get him doing something else, it would help. Sherlock had always been easy to agitate; I used to be able to calm him easily, now I wasn’t so sure of it. He was just so _different,_ and far more stressed than usual, and ten times more fragile. I could make a wrong move at any moment, scare him and wreck him even further. I couldn’t do that to him, not after all the trouble I’d caused Sherlock in the past while I was in the dark over what happened to him. Mycroft would _kill_ me for it, literally as well, or do something very, very unpleasant. I’d heard of him ‘taking care of’ people who hurt Sherlock in the past, the bodies never surfaced, or were spoken of ever again. And to be honest, I was quite fond of my life, even if it was so damn stressful right now.

“Yeah, yeah. Sounds good.” I watched as Sherlock forced himself to relax his muscles and lean back in his chair casually. It was a good disguise, but I saw right through it. He was still too nervous around the edges, not quite as closed off and confident as usual.

“Just breathe Sherlock; we’re going to work it all out alright? It’s been a very weird couple of days, but we’re going to get used it and be just fine. It’s going to be just like before, okay? Hell, it’s going to be just like usual routine too; the only difference is that I’ll not be going home to my place to sleep. I’ll just run upstairs. We’re going to be _fine,_ once we get back into our old routines.” I leant forward and made sure to look him in the eye as I said it, so he _knew_ just how serious I was without sounding too harsh. Soft and gentle was the way to go, soft and gentle, but with a firm hand, like scared new soldiers in their first time out in a war zone. It took some kindness, but firm guidance, offering support but not letting them get away with murder.

It was going to be difficult to adjust to living together again, but we were going to _manage_ it. We’d moved into a flat together after being introduced about twelve hours beforehand for God’s sake! This would be easier I was sure, we knew all of the bad habits, had been spending a lot of time together recently anyway, we’d get there. It would be just like before. Just, with a huge elephant in the room named ‘The Fall’ and one half of us not exactly functioning on his normal level. But we had medication, it would help. It wouldn’t solve everything, but it would help. That was what mattered, _helping_ things move along. We could do this, we could _so_ do this. We just, we just needed a little while to adjust, that was all. Yeah, just a little time to adjust.

“I know that. I... _No it’s not damn it!_ I’m going for a lie down, I... I’ve got a headache, from the hospital.” Sherlock flashed a smile and raced from the room, slamming the door to his bedroom behind him.

I groaned to myself, leaning back against the sofa and wishing that had gone better. I’d thought I’d had a handle on the situation then, was getting somewhere with calming his nerves. But then again, Sherlock hadn’t ever really been one for social interaction, or change, or unfamiliar places for that matter. St Bart’s wasn’t exactly unfamiliar, but he’d never really been a patient there, or been forced to be there after his jump either. That must have screwed with his mind a bit, especially with all the doctors and nurses flitting in and out of the room and knocking him out. Adding in the stress of gaining me back in the flat for good, and the stress of things changing around him without his say. Okay, understandable that he’d run off like that. I’d give him a day or two to adjust, if he was still like this after that time, I’d push him a little into talking about it and sort out his fears. Right now it was best to give him some time to wrap his head around things. For all that massive brain, Sherlock did not do well with processing changes in routine.

I guessed I was on my own for the evening, so I set about unpacking my things into my old wardrobe again. It was weird being back in my old bedroom, nothing much had changed, sure, but it was still _weird._ I’d first moved into it as a PTSD suffering ex-army doctor with a newly recovered limp. Now I was moving back in again because _Sherlock_ was most probably suffering from PTSD from wherever he’d been these past two years, doing God knows what.

Damn, and to think only a few months ago I was so set against wanting to be anywhere near him again. I was so sure that all this weird behaviour was an act to get me back into this flat, that he was trying to get into my head and make me his slave. How wrong could I have been? Sherlock did need me, he wasn’t acting like he wasn’t well, he really _was not_ well. I’d been blind not to see it before, but again, I was glad I had in the end, so I could watch over him now. It was the least I could do, after he’d been so badly treated by me in the past. I was making up for it now, and wasn’t going to stop either.

Sherlock did need me, and I wasn’t going to let him down again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lack of update yesterday, but totally worth it on my end, because McBusted were AMAZING! If you don't know who they are, seriously look them up, and look up their original bands McFly and Busted, they are SO good! Funnily enough, they were the ones to get me into writing in the first place as well! :D  
> Comments/kudos are love! :D


	77. Chapter 77

76 Sherlock's POV

This was a bad idea, such a bad idea. Who’s idea was this anyway? Who in their right mind thought that having John move back in was a good idea?! _Mycroft made this plan, we’ve already established this moron. He’s doing all of this. You know, this may be a part of his plan to get you locked away in a high security psych ward. He’s putting you into a situation where you **have** to be as normal as possible, not showing off any signs that you’re ill. If you do, your **doctor** flatmate is probably cataloguing everything wrong and feeding it back to Mycroft. So when you finally snap and show exactly just how insane you are, there’ll be a tonne of evidence not working in your favour. You’ll be locked up and on so much medication you’ll barely be able to breathe right._

Stupid brother, stupid, _stupid_ brother. I didn’t want this! I was doing well with the previous arrangement! I didn’t need to be spied on, or the constant care, or medication. Bart’s had been an anomaly, I’d learn to control the panic attacks around that place. If he just gave me some time to breathe and work it by myself, I could manage! I was doing so well, so damn well. Did I have to go and ruin it by freaking out and landing myself in hospital? This was all wrong, this was all _so_ wrong! _You could just cut out the middle man now you know. Snap, scream, shout, go mad. Get the very nice men with the nice needles that make everything all floaty to come along and take you to a nice big padded cell. Maybe they’ll even give you a straight jacket! Wouldn’t that be nice, to have that constant pressure on your chest, to feel like someone is hugging you all day!_

NO, I wasn’t doing this, I wasn’t! We’d agreed, act normal. I wasn’t going to give in, I’d kept my freedom for months now, I wasn’t about to give it up again. Mycroft couldn’t win this fight; I wouldn’t let him win it! Even though it was a lost cause, and I damn well knew it was, I was going to fight against him, prove I could be a normal human being. He wasn’t going to make me fail now. I just had to control myself, I’d done that before. Before I’d left, I’d had almost perfect control over every part of my body. I could regain that, pretend the sudden change was down to the damn medication I was being given, all the while hiding the fact that I wasn’t actually taking them. I could manage that; I could manage all of it. I could, I could, I swear I could.

“Sherlock?” A knock at my bedroom door had me jumping feet. _Should have heard the footsteps, you’re getting slow._

“W-What?” _Now that wasn’t very polite either. That’s not what Mummy told you to do in social situations now was it? I thought we were supposed to be being polite._ Shut up! _Talking to yourself isn’t helping you look sane either._

“I’m getting hungry, so I was wondering if you were up for that Chinese take away we were talking about earlier?” John sounded nervous as he said it; there was no sign of him leaning on the door, as it remained completely and utterly stationary, so he must have been standing straight, not even his hand holding onto the handle. _Why the hell is that important?!_ I don’t know, it’s just what I noticed!

Did I want to be forced out to eat right now? It would mean more awkward conversations, or silences, and actually _eating_ something. I currently felt sick, but John wasn’t going to be taking no for an answer, not now he was moving back in on the pretence of looking after me...

“Okay, okay... ordering in, right?” I couldn’t take the public right now; I couldn’t even take _John_ right now. Going out to a restaurant would spell complete disaster though; at least with just John I could sort of steer clear of complete and utter disaster.

“Of course order in! You want the usual, yeah?” John took on a more cheerful tone. _Trying to put you at ease so you don’t completely freak out again. He’s starting to walk on egg shells._

“Yeah, yeah, usual is good.” I nodded, lying back on the floor and staring at the ceiling, forcing myself to control my breathing and start making a mental list of things that needed doing now.

One. Find a way to fake taking pills, that’s good enough to fool John.

Two. Move John’s chair back into the front room so he wasn’t relegated to the sofa.

Three. Learn to control myself to not have panic attacks or talk back to John’s voice in my head.

Four. Work out when it was safe to sleep without John overhearing nightmares.

And five. Not be an asshole like before, actually be a damn human being. With cases, lots and lots of cases.

We’d need them as a distraction; we couldn’t talk or function together without them. The Work was what our lives used to revolve around, that couldn’t change, that couldn’t _ever_ change. A caseless, adrenaline craving John was an unhappy John, and seeing as that was why he started coming back, I had to keep my side of this relationship up. From tomorrow I’d text Lestrade, get some cases in, get us all going back to the normal swing of things.

It would be of an advantage to me too, as I’d have a distraction too. I’d have something to take my mind off of _everything_ else, and maybe I could actually look like my normal functioning self. If I acted like my normal self, solving cases and such, Mycroft couldn’t say I couldn’t cope. He couldn’t send me away somewhere, because I’d be what was known as fine. Nobody could say I couldn’t cope then either, because if I was sleeping/eating/actually a pleasant person to be around/solving crimes, what about that was abnormal for a human being? None of that was unnatural behaviour! It would be for me, but how could anybody complain if I was looking after myself and being nice? It’s not like the old me would be missed. So if I just did all that, did my absolute best, I’d avoid being sent away again. I’d do anything to avoid being sent away again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still loving hearing what you guys think of this and where you think it's going! But a quick question, do you think Sherlock and John should get together in this, as in like a couple? I'm currently considering it further down the line if it's a possible thing to do, but what do you guys think? Should I make them a couple or keep them as friends?


	78. Chapter 78

77 Sherlock's POV

I somehow made it through dinner without making any mistakes, including talking back to John’s voice inside my head, or worrying real life John too much. I think I unnerved him a little with my silence, but I’d always been quiet... I had been mostly quiet, right? _Only when you were in a sulky mood, or decided things weren’t going your way. John probably thinks you’re sulking. Again. You know how much he **loves** watching you sulk like a toddler. _Nope, wasn’t thinking about that at all. I was completely normal right now. Utterly normal. No voices, no talking to myself, no damn stimming, _nothing._

I could do this, it was all about self control, and I had that in bucket loads. I’d undergone torture in Korea _and_ Serbia, and got out of both without cracking once. An evening indoors with _John_ should not be so difficult that I was fighting off a panic attack and wanting to lock myself in my room for the rest of time! _Too late with that one, this is how you’ve always been. Social interactions are **not** you’re thing at all! I thought we’d agreed on not having them! _Well this was different because _he just moved in without my permission._ If I’d had a choice, this wouldn’t have happened! And now I was keeping my mouth shut before something slipped out and it all went to hell and I was taken somewhere I _really_ didn’t want to go very, very quickly.

“Hey, I’m going to head to bed, it’s getting late.” John made me jump feet again, had to fix that, jumping feet every time someone spoke unexpectedly was going to end badly for me.

“Okay.” What did I say to that? What did I _used_ to say to that? Did I say anything? Or did I just ignore him? I couldn’t have ignored someone as important as John like that, did I? _I don’t know genius; figure it out, use that bloody Mind Palace of yours._ It wasn’t working right now!

“I think you should get some sleep too you know. It’s been a long few days, and yes I know you’ve spent most of it asleep, but it is important. I’m not asking for full nights, just a few hours, four to six would do you a world of good.” Bugger, the bit I was dreading most. I didn’t even want to _think_ about sleeping with John in the house right now. He’d see _everything_ and then where would I be? _In a psych ward._ But he’d had nightmares when he first moved in... _Yes but **you** are Sherlock Holmes. A simple nightmare shouldn’t be freaking you out as much as it is. You’re a machine, you’re supposed to have total control over your body and mind, having it not under control will end **badly.**_

“I’ll go in a bit, got stuff to think about right now.” I couldn’t look at him as I said it, scared he’d know I’d just lied to him. There was no way I was going to bed when John was so damn close by. I wasn’t going to sleep until he was safely very far away from the building!

“Alright, don’t stay up too long okay? I know you think you don’t need rest, but you do, and don’t you forget it.” John smiled a little and headed upstairs. When was the last time he’d smiled at me and it didn’t feel like he’d forced it, or was smiling in reassurance? I couldn’t remember, it had to be a long while ago. _Yeah, **years** ago, before a certain Fall which got you into this mess. _I wasn’t thinking about that right now!

_Of course not, which is why you’ve spent half the evening planning how to get around this disaster waiting to happen with as little damage as possible. And worrying over a chair._ Well it was _John’s chair,_ and to not have it here while he was here, it felt weird. I had to move it. In fact, I was going to move it now.

_You really think a chair is going to fix things? **Really?** I knew you were special needs and naive to all things normal but **damn.**_ No I was not that naive, I was doing this so things felt more homely for John. _He’s going to have a direct view of you now. That chair faces **you. Directly.**_ Shit. Well maybe I could move it to face the TV. If it faced the TV, he wouldn’t be looking at me. Yeah, yeah, that was good. Turn the chair to face the TV, turn mine to face it too, so I didn’t look stupid because it looked like I was staring at John. That sounded like a plan, now to move this damn thing without waking anybody. This would be fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the opinions on whether Johnlock should happen or not in this fic, I'm taking them all into account and will see where it goes. No promises to either side! ;)  
> Also if there's anything you'd like to see the boys talk about, or something you'd like to see happen, please do let me know. I can't make promises that I will be able to fit it into this fic, but I can try my best with it!


	79. Chapter 79

78 John's POV

As soon as I got into bed, I realised I’d made a mistake. This was _Sherlock_ I was supposed to be looking after; just _telling_ him to go to bed wasn’t going to get him to go! He defied orders just to piss people off, and never took orders from me in the first place! Then again... he _had_ been very subdued lately, almost willing to please, maybe this time he would pay attention...

I’d see to it in the morning, see if I could read the signs of exhaustion on him, make sure he did go to bed. If Sherlock hadn’t, well, I’d just make sure to give him his newly prescribed sleep medication before I went to bed. That would knock him out for a while, he wouldn’t like it but damn it he’d put up with it and do it if I said so. He was ill, I was his doctor, he had to pay attention and do as I said. If he was stubborn about it I would... well I wouldn’t force him physically, he’d had too much physical force on him recently as it was. I’d just... I’d bring in someone Sherlock would listen to. Maybe the newly-found-out-to-be-alive mother of his... His relationship with her couldn’t be worse than his with Mycroft surely...

I fell asleep to the thoughts of getting Sherlock to take his new medication and ways to persuade him into it, waking up surprisingly well rested and slightly disorientated. It had been years since I’d last slept in this flat, waking up in my old bedroom felt _weird._ Like I’d been transported back to just after Sherlock had fallen. But, I reminded myself, he wasn’t dead. He was alive and well.... okay alive at the very least. Needed a little TLC from me for a while and he’d be right as rain again. Getting up, I wandered down the stairs in search of breakfast, but stopped dead in the front room.

My chair was back. My arm chair was back in its usual place in the front room. But facing the TV, instead of Sherlock’s chair, which was also facing the TV. When had he...?

“Good morning John... I just made toast if you want some.” And the shocks just kept on coming.

“You... You made toast?” Sherlock Holmes made toast. _Sherlock Holmes made toast._ I was really stepping into some alternate reality type thing right now because that was not something Sherlock usually did. Even with a personality change, this was new and very unusual.

“Yes, because it’s breakfast time and I thought it would be nice to make you some while I made mine. That’s... That is expected of flatmates.” _Isn’t it?_ The question was nearly screamed from his facial expression alone. Sherlock’s hands did the finger tapping thing against his crossed arms, his eyes unable to look into mine.

“Yes it is. It’s just that... you usually don’t do what is expected of flatmates.” I made him wince, _shit Mycroft is going to have me for this,_ “Not that this isn’t a nice surprise. I just, wasn’t expecting it... Nice job of making an effort to eat though, it’s nice to know that you’re taking your health seriously.” I managed a smile, taking an encouraging bite of toast. It was a bit burnt around the edges, but far better than I expected. I usually expected food prepared by Sherlock to be drugged, or to be a part of an experiment. This didn’t _seem_ to be a part of something like that...

“Yeah, guess I am.” Sherlock hugged himself, “I slept as well you know. Two hours. Not as much as you said to, but it’s a start.” That was followed with a wince.

“That’s good, you’re looking more awake.” I smiled again, because he did look more awake than usual. Still pale, dark shadows bruising his bloodshot eyes. But, he was looking more awake, which was a good start.

“I know, because I slept for two hours. And ate.” Sherlock looked like he wanted to please me so _badly._

“And I’m very proud of you for it too.” I felt like I was talking to a child at the clinic. Speaking of which, I had to go there today. Damn it.

“You’ve got to go to work today, haven’t you?” Sherlock read my mind, _damn still not used to that._

“Yeah, sorry about that. But hey, a man’s got to earn a living.” I shrugged, finishing my toast.

“Is it a normal working day?” Sherlock asked, leaning against the fridge.

“Only a half day. I thought it was best, so I’d get more time to move back in. All my stuff is here, I just need to unpack it. I’ll be back around three I think.” I answered, used to Sherlock’s questioning about my work timings. I hoped he wasn’t going to start begging me to stay at home.

“Okay.” Sherlock simply nodded, almost relaxing as he worked out when how long he’d have to himself.

“I thought I was getting an argument over it.” I pulled on my shoes.

“No, you’ve got to work, I understand.” _Wow,_ Sherlock really was different. Was this the effect of the medications? Wait, _had_ he taken them in the first place?

“Sherlock... have you taken your medications today?” I hated asking it, knowing that Sherlock didn’t want them, and that asking would ruin our nice atmosphere. But I had to ask, I’d promised Mycroft to look after his little brother and make sure he took his medications, ate and slept, I wasn’t breaking that promise, mostly so I didn’t die some horrible death. Before now, I would have _laughed_ at Mycroft even suggesting such a thing, but this time I really was not going against him. I’d screwed up enough in his eyes, what with shouting at and ignoring Sherlock for months and letting him suffer by himself, I wasn't about to poke the aloof-but-over-protective bear again and get myself killed because of it. I had to make up for all the crap I pulled before, for Sherlock’s sake, and had to keep him sane enough to keep Mycroft happy.

“Yes. Of course I have.” Sherlock lied; the way he tensed up and couldn’t keep his eyes on one spot for more than a few seconds told me that.

“So you wouldn’t mind if I checked the pill packages for today’s dose being missing then?” I raised an eyebrow, _wow I really was the parent right now._

“Okay, I haven’t taken them, I’ll take them later.” Sherlock tensed up further.

“I’d like you to take them now, so I can see and make sure you have taken them. It’s not that I don’t trust you, it’s just that... I want to make sure you’re taking the correct dose and such.” Oh even I could tell that that sounded like a terrible lie. But I had to make sure Sherlock took what he was prescribed, it was too important to leave him without anything to cool him down and regulate his thoughts.

“Fine. Where are they?” Sherlock sighed; I was honestly expecting an argument with that, not a one sentence of persuasion and giving in.

Maybe looking after Sherlock wasn’t going to be as difficult as first thought...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments/kudos.   
> If you don't have an account here, please do message me on twitter @corruptedpov or on tumblr effulgentcorruptedpov I love hearing your opinions on this fic!


	80. Chapter 80

79 Sherlock's POV

I had to give it to John for being thorough in checking I took the medication, but he managed to miss me hiding it in my pocket using a slight of hand trick. He only thought to check by doing the usual places, under the tongue and my hands. Like I was going to be _that_ stupid to hide pills there like an amateur medication-dodger. _Well are you acting rather stupid as of late. Can you blame him?_ Didn’t matter, I’d gotten away with it on day one. It was a start. _Now just to act like a normal human being well enough to fool John, Mrs Hudson, Lestrade and **Mycroft.** Have fun with that. _I’d manage, I always managed. Mycroft didn’t know I wasn’t taking the pills anyway; I’d hidden in the camera blind spot while pocketing them. He didn’t have a _clue._

“Right, I’m off to the surgery. I’ll be back by three, if I’m late, I’ll text you. Bye!” John left, thumping down the stairs and out the door. _Couldn’t wait to get out._ Whatever, I didn’t need reminding of that.

Right now, I had about eight hours of time to myself before John was back home. I had things to do, things I couldn’t do when he was home. _Mrs Hudson is still in._ Good point, but she’d be going shopping very soon. She always did, I just had to wait for her to leave. Then she’d be gone for several hours, and then I’d try to sleep. I couldn’t do it when everybody was in, because they’d hear me and then everything would go wrong. I had to wait. And, if I slept while John was working, when he asked me the next morning how I’d slept, I could lie and tell him the truth. It didn’t matter when I slept as long as I did, did it? There couldn’t be rules on _sleeping,_ especially when I was trying. I couldn’t be faulted for trying.

_You can and you will. You’ve been faulted for every part of ‘trying’ you’ve ever done. This plan is ridiculous, you’ll get caught out quickly, wake up the neighbours, sleep too long, do **something** that’ll give away the nightmares. It’s not like John doesn’t know about them by now, Mycroft probably told him at the hospital. He knows **everything** now. _No he couldn’t have known everything.

_He does you know. He knows everything about you now. Mycroft told him all of it. Everything you did while playing dead, everything you’ve been up to since you’ve been back, about the Aspergers too. It’s why you got that damn weighted blanket from them both. You did so well at keeping John away from finding out that you’re not a sociopath, that you’re just autistic, too bad Mycroft let the cat out of the bag. Made him realise that you’re just a special needs boy. Why do you think he doesn’t touch you anymore? Why he treats you like a child too. How does it feel to know that your best friend in the whole world, your **only** friend in the whole world in fact, is only with you because your big brother forced him to, because you can’t make friends, because you are **incapable** of it. _SHUT UP!

It didn’t matter! It did not matter! I was... I was exactly the same as I once was; just knowing about the damn diagnosis wasn’t going to change anything! _But it has, hasn’t it? John won’t touch you anymore. He can barely look at you, and that’s not anger. That’s **pity.** _ No, no it wasn’t. Nope. Wasn’t true. Couldn’t be, because John didn’t pity, John hadn’t ever pitied me before, he wasn’t starting now. _So what is all this then?_ Erm... looking after me? _Because you’re not capable._ It didn’t matter, it didn’t matter. None of it mattered.

“Sherlock, what’s all that shouting about? I didn’t hear your brother coming in!” Mrs Hudson made her way up the steps; I scrambled to grab my phone.

“He hasn’t come in, I, er... he was on the phone.” I waved it as she came in. _Nice one, Mycroft is going to see all this and laugh at you._ As long as he didn’t bring it up to anybody, it didn’t matter what he saw.

“Alright, but if he carries on bothering you dear, send him my way, I’ll sort him out. No-one stresses out one of my boys that much.” Mrs Hudson held my arm gently, in a second of weakness, I wanted to curl into her arms and stay there. Just the small comfort of having someone physically touching me in _comfort_ was so alien to me I wanted to sob, I wasn’t used to it, didn’t have a clue on how to deal with it apart from wanting to fall into that persons arms and never get back out again. Though after the incident with Mycroft, maybe not, best avoid all appearances of ‘William.’ Damn I used to be so much better at this.

“Now I’m going to the shops for a bit, then going over for a chat with Mrs Turner, is there anything you boys up here need? You’re both going to be depleting that fridge very quickly I imagine, so you’ll need some food, is there anything in particular you can think of needing?” She continued.

“Erm, no. We’re good on the food front at the moment.” I didn’t think there was anything we needed...

“Okay, but if there is anything phone me. Just this once though, I’m not your housekeeper.” Mrs Hudson patted my arm and left. I fell onto the sofa, unsure of what to make of the feeling of wanting to be held in someone’s arms.

I hadn’t wanted that, not properly, for years. But Mrs Hudson had just put her hand on my arm and I just wanted to melt into it. But when Molly held me I’d freaked out. I didn’t understand my own actions, what was my brain doing to me?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going through old comments earlier, and I just want to say thank you for being so enthusiastic with this fic and commenting as much as you do, it means the absolute world to me, I love you all! :D


	81. Chapter 81

80 Sherlock's POV

I didn’t sleep that day. Or the next. Or the day after that. I generally found I couldn’t because either John didn’t have work, Mrs Hudson wasn’t out, or another stupid reason. If I did manage to carve a few hours of alone time, it was spent staring at the ceiling, pleading myself to sleep and getting nowhere. And if whatever non-existent deity actually decided I _could_ sleep, I had the worst nightmares I’d had in _months._ Mrs Turner’s married ones from next door actually spoke to Mrs Hudson about the noise once, which ended with her flapping around me like I was a mentally deficit _child,_ which I was not.

_Of course you’re not. Of course this isn’t reminding you of Mummy and Daddy doing the exact same thing every time you had one of our ‘meltdowns.’ Well, before they got too scared to try it and replaced their comfort with a **dog.**_ Shut it, they didn’t replace themselves with Redbeard. They just... they thought he’d calm me down, give me some peace. He wasn’t a replacement for them. _Just keep telling yourself that._ I would, because that was what was true!

“Everything okay Sherlock?” John handed me a sandwich... When had he made that?

“Fine.” I grumbled, obediently eating my sandwich. I was already side stepping the medications _very_ well and generally defying all of the reasons why John was here out of self preservation. But even I had to admit I had to eat, and I wasn’t about to piss him off by refusing to eat the food he prepared for me. I was on thin ice here; I needed to be very, very careful.

“Sure about that? You’re looking peaky again.” John made no move to check my temperature, or any other doctorly thing.

“Adjusting to the new routine. I look peaky when that happens.” I lied, I knew enough about medications and changing them round to lie my way successfully through this. God knew how many different medications I’d been put on throughout childhood. _About a hundred different variations, dosage levels and varying anti-something’s. Now wasn’t that fun?_ About as fun as being left chained to a wall in Serbia.

“Right,” John looked a bit worried for a second, “Erm, soon, I think we should have a sit down and discuss how you’re feeling on these medications. Y’know, once you’ve settled into them a bit, so we can figure out what’s working for you and if we need to change dosage or the type of medication we’re using, stuff like that.” John did not look comfortable talking about this. I wasn’t comfortable with him talking about this. I’d rather we didn’t have that conversation ever. I was getting away with lying now, but how much could I lie about before I got caught out? _Didn’t think this through now did we?_ I’d figure out something.

“If you insist.” I shrugged, feigning nonchalance. I’d been working on that through my endless, never ending days of hell. I was getting quite good at it again, nearly had John fooled. If I was lucky, I’d get away with this long enough to get us back on cases again, ones where we could run around and chase criminals and have the important adrenaline rushes that John craved. I could do it, once I’d perfected the mask. And then once we were running and chasing again, I’d feel tired and maybe, just _maybe_ I could sleep again. At the correct time of course, when I was alone. But I could sleep. Everything would be better when I could sleep again...

“Sherlock... There’s something I haven’t told you about yet, but I think I need to tell you now because we can’t avoid it for much longer.” John bit his lip. Shit, shit, this wasn’t good! What was he talking about!? _He’s setting ground rules. You’ve settled into this now as best as possible, now he’s setting ground rules for living together. Rules like take your meds, do as he says, take him on every case possible, no experiments, be a normal human being or he’s **gone.**_ No, no, no, we were not having this conversation. Oh hell no!

“W-What is it?” Damn it, did my voice have to waver _then?_ I was getting _so_ good at not stuttering and sounding confident in myself.

“While you were in the hospital, Mycroft set some ground rules, when we agreed on me moving back in,” this was _not_ ending well, shit, “And most of them don’t affect you, they’re just for me. But there is one that is going to affect you too, and unfortunately, we can’t get out of it.” John sighed, leaning forward and resting his arms on his knees, “Mycroft is sending a doctor round. I don’t know what kind, psychological and physical, but he’s bringing one in once a week, to check up on you. I don’t think he fully trusts me because... well because of the past we’ve had,” we both winced, “So he’s sending someone in, to check up on us. I’m sorry I can’t change it, I know you hate being checked up on and such, but we all know how hard it is to change your brother’s mind with _anything._ So it’s got to happen, I’m sorry.”

“A doctor is coming in to... _check up_ on me?” I couldn’t believe it, was Mycroft _stupid?_ We could look after ourselves around here! We didn’t need him coming in and poking his nose in! He didn’t need to do weekly bloody checkups on me because of John and I’s past! We were fine now, and John was taking good care of me, and I was for the most part listening. _We didn’t need checkups!_

“Yeah, I’m sorry Sherlock. He wouldn’t say no. And I don’t think a phone call from you will change his mind either I’m afraid. I wish I could say that that wasn’t the case, but it isn’t. I should have told you sooner, I know, and I’m sorry that I didn’t. I didn’t know how to explain it, but I had to say today because they’re coming tomorrow for the first check up.” _Tomorrow?!_ Was he _joking?!_

_Oh here we go, no hiding now from anything! You are so BUSTED!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a bit of a prewarning, I'm back to uni from the 30th of April and for two weeks I've got my usual time table, but after that I've got a 'summer school.' It's 5 days a week for about a month, involving trips and a 'short fiction boot camp' as well as a week long challenge to write and produce an online magazine in a week. So it may end up screwing up the update schedule for a while, I'm currently not sure what is going on because nobody has given me timings or anything, I just know it's Monday - Friday, so if updates aren't coming as quickly/this goes quiet for a while, I haven't forgotten this at all, I'm just stuck at uni all day/having a possible brain scramble from everything we're doing!


	82. Chapter 82

81 Sherlock's POV

“Well he can’t do this! He simply cannot shove his nose in any further! That’s not fair, that... that’s not allowed! He can’t do that!” Mycroft couldn’t do this! He couldn’t send in another doctor to check me over and report back to him! I was fine! I swore, I was fine! I didn’t need another doctor coming in, John did a good job, he was doing a good job. _You’re going to get found out! No way is one of **Mycroft’s doctors** going to miss your tricks; he’s probably trained them to spot them! _NO! I was not going to be checked up on, was _not_ going to be needing some sort of extra support! What the hell did my brother think he was doing?!

“Hey, it’s alright mate, it’s alright. It’s just a doctor check up thing, not like a hospital trip, it’ll be fine!” John stood up, hands up and braced. _Ready to grab you and hold you down. Remind you of anything? Psych wards. Previous meltdowns._

“No it’s not okay! This is totally not okay! I... I need my phone, where’s my phone?” I raced to find it, wishing I had put it in my pocket like usual. Why was my phone not in my pocket?! Where the hell did I put it?! _Misplacing items around the house, which you never usually do, someone is slipping more._ Nope, no was _not_ slipping, just being stupid. Where was the phone?! I needed the damn phone!

“Sherlock, breathe a minute. Here, use my phone instead.” John handed me his.

I grabbed his phone out of his hand. _Bit rude that._ Shut up, this was important and I needed, I needed to phone Mycroft, make him stop this. He couldn’t do this to me, not again, he _couldn’t._ This was my life and I wanted to be in control, I needed control of _me._ No other doctors, no pills, no nothing else. Just what I had right now, I just wanted what I had _right this second._ Checkups were ridiculous, John was already living with me, and he could look after me when I couldn’t. He could make sure I could eat and looked after myself, everything else I could look after. There was no need for anything more!

I rang Mycroft with shaking hands, ignoring John’s insistence on me calming down first. I couldn’t calm down first, I needed to talk to Mycroft now, he couldn’t do this to me! _Big brother is watching Sherlock, he’s **always** watching you. You’ll never get away from him. He’s monitoring you even more, watching for signs of the cracks and the facades in the armour. The second he deems you incapable of being able to look after yourself, you are out of here. _For God sake, _shut up,_ I couldn’t listen to this right now!

“Hello brother mine, what do I owe the honour of your call?” Mycroft answered the phone after the second ring, sounding about as smug as ever.

“I don’t need another doctor to check up on me, take him away!” I shouted, yanking on my hair violently as I did so. _Yep, that’s going to work on him isn’t it? Shouting and crying pathetically while starting to have a panic attack/meltdown. He’s going to lord this over you for **years** now, especially now that it’s one more tick in the ‘Sherlock can’t cope’ file. How many ticks do you think you have left? _

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, you need the supervision. It’s nothing to be worried about, just a simple check to make sure you’re taking what you should and keeping on track with the recovery you so desperately want.” Mycroft answered, he was shuffling paper in the background, he wasn’t even paying attention to this conversation! _Why would he need to? You’re his idiot kid brother who keeps on having breakdowns; he could have conversations like this in his sleep if he wanted to._

“No! Take him away, take away the doctor you’re sending, I don’t need them! I can, I can look after myself, I don’t need you looking in on me like this! Me and John are _fine_ by ourselves, we don’t need help!” I insisted, we didn’t need it! We could look after ourselves; there was no need for more people to be looking in on us!

“Sherlock, it doesn’t matter, it’s just another doctor. They’ll be fine.” John held onto my arm.

“No! I don’t want another doctor! I don’t want any checkups! I’m fine; we are fine together like this! I’m doing as I’m told and everything, I’m fine! Let me make my own decisions!” I wanted to make my own decisions about my health! _Like that is ever happening. Mycroft has made up his mind and the only way he’s changing it is when you need institutionalising._

“Sherlock, your health is very important to everybody; I am simply just making sure that you’re at full health, that is all. And it would be a great use if you behaved about it.” Mycroft sighed; _he’s not going to budge. You’re going to be found out and then you’ll never be trusted ever again. You’re barely trusted now; imagine how much worse it’ll be when you’re not trusted **at all.**_

“Why should I?! Stop butting in and let me get on with my life! I’m looking after myself; I don’t need you doing this to me!” I wanted to cry, this wasn’t _fair._ We were doing well, learning to cope; we didn’t need some damn new doctor coming in to check on me like this!

“Willi-” Mycroft started.

“ _Don’t_ call me that! I don’t want to be babied, just trust me and let me get on with what I want to do! I don’t need my hand being held and having people checking up on me all the time, I can look after myself!” I could look after myself, I swore I could! If I was just given a chance, I could do it!

“Sherlock, I am not moving on this subject. You _will_ be examined by another doctor on a weekly basis, and you _will not_ argue or show off about it. I am not budging on this subject, and so you will be doing this whether you like it or not.” Mycroft hissed.

“Or what?” I challenged him, forcing my voice to sound like I was in charge of my own emotions and I was _not_ having a breakdown.

“Or I will take Doctor Watson away from you. He is only there because he is under the supervision of another doctor, if I cannot ensure that he is taking good care of you, as he promised to do, I will be removing him from 221b forever. You know what happens to you if he goes away don’t you?” Mycroft said in the most condescending tone he had _ever_ used. _Well he is talking to you. He does have to drum it into your thick skull sometimes. Let another doctor come and talk to you, or get sent off to a psych ward and never be let out again. There’s already a room waiting for you, want to speed up the moving in and have your last day with John be filled with this pathetic panicking?_

“Fine. He can come and look me over. But if he mentions anything...” _to do with Aspergers, PTSD, lying about sociopath,_ “to do with _things,_ he’s out.” I shut off the call and fell back into the chair, wanting to scream.

Why didn’t anybody _listen_ to me when I said I was _fine?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for the comments/kudos! :D


	83. Chapter 83

82 Sherlock's POV

Somehow, I made it through the entire day and into the next without much issue, though it was blatantly obvious that I hadn’t slept at any time recently. My eyes were so damn bloodshot I may as well have just shouted from the rooftops that I hadn’t slept for a full night in an impossibly long time. Probably at some point before I jumped off a building in fact... or even longer. Damn I had no idea.

I could also tell just by looking at myself that I was not in any way remotely healthier than I was when I left the hospital, a pound heavier, but other than that, there was nothing. _You’re so screwed. This doctor is going to take one look at you and deem John unfit in looking after you, and you’ll get sent away._ No, I was going to fake this. I’d faked being well and like a good little medicated boy before successfully, I could do it. _No you can’t._ Yes I can damn it! I’m not freaking stupid damn it, I’d pretended to be other people all the damn time and I was _good_ at it.

“Sherlock, I’m sorry, but you are going to have to come out soon. The doctor will be here soon.” John sighed, knocking on my bedroom door. _Show time._

I took a deep breath, steadying myself as much as I could before leaving the safety that was my room. If I’d had my way, I’d have dragged my blanket with me and have spent as long as I could wrapped inside it, but I couldn’t because that wasn’t going to put me in the bright light of sanity. Anyway, if I had my way, there wouldn’t be a doctor coming round. Bloody Mycroft, sticking his nose in where it wasn’t needed or wanted. We were doing _fine,_ and if he just gave me a damn chance I could show him that I was ‘improving’ to his satisfaction. Wish he’d just leave me the hell alone for more than five damn minutes then _maybe_ I’d get somewhere.

_Oh quit whining, it’s not exactly like you’re not used to it. Checkups with doctors used to be a regular occurrence for you._ Didn’t mean I looked forward to them at any point in my life. I preferred to be left alone and _trusted_ in looking after myself. _But you can’t look after yourself; you’ve proved that over and over again._ I survived for two damn years on the run! _Yes, and it broke you and you’re now in this situation._ Whatever, go the damn hell away and stop talking to me.

With a deep breath in, I left my room and flopped into my chair in the front room, curling up there and glaring at the TV. _Yep, just look like a petulant teenager, because **that’s** going to help you. _Mycroft needed to know that I was not happy with this, and seeing as he wouldn’t answer my calls, I was going to show him through my actions. No doubt he was going to be watching like the intrusive bastard he was, it wouldn’t take a genius to know that I was pissed at him.

“Morning Sherlock.” John greeted me, putting on a more fake smile than usual.

“When’s this bloody doctor getting here?” I winced as I said it, _so damn rude Sherlock! Not helping your nice guy cause._

“Around midday I think. I’ve got the day off work so I can wait with you, moral support and all that, if you need it.” Why did everybody think I needed support with _everything?_ “He should only take a little while, half an hour tops I reckon, then after he’s gone we can do whatever you like.” John continued to smile, handing me a plate of toast.

“The only thing I want to do is smash that damn umbrella of my brother’s over his fat head.” I grumbled, but ate the toast. I’d have happily beaten him over the head with it, possibly stabbed him with it too, if I had the chance. In this moment, I _hated_ my brother with a burning passion.

“Bit not good that Sherlock, he’s only trying to help.” John sighed, perching on the arm of his chair, effectively putting him higher up than me. _Looking down on you._

“Well I don’t want his help; I want him to leave me alone.” I growled, _you sound like you did before. Like a petulant and vindictive asshole. A **sociopath,** I thought you were avoiding that. _Fuck off, I was stressed, I was letting off steam. And this was _far_ better than having a screaming fit again.

“I know you do, but he’ll soon see that you’re improving and hopefully let you get on with life again. You know how Mycroft is though, he’s thorough.” John took my empty plate away, empty hand starting to clench. _You’re angering him._ I didn’t want to anger him. _So shut up moron._

“Yeah, yeah, thorough.” I hastily agreed, sinking further into my chair. I didn’t want to start an argument; we’d been doing so well recently with not arguing. I had to stop being difficult to John, had to be nicer to him, be a good boy like always, keep him happy. John wasn’t the target of my anger, Mycroft was, I shouldn’t take it out on John, no matter how stressed I was. _So keep quiet, do as he says, do as this doctor says. Behave yourself like a good little boy and leave it alone. Don’t anger John or he’ll leave. So just get through this and find some case or other to go on to make up for this._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick update before I do my final improvements on my final essay (for now) before I go out for a triple bill of Marvel films - including Age Of Ultron! eeeeep! :D


	84. Chapter 84

83 John's POV                                                                       

I took a deep, calming breath, refusing to start arguing with Sherlock. He was stressed, and rightfully so, he was allowed to be a bit of a dick today. He wasn’t suddenly going to be a colossal asshole from now on, he just... he was just stressed and taking it out on me. It would pass. Hopefully.

Though, should I have been celebrating the return of a bit of Sherlock’s personality, no matter if it wasn’t the best part of it? I wasn’t sure. He was so _quiet_ and _sad_ at the moment, I’d go almost as far to say that he was depressed. To see him sulking and being sarky to me... Was that an improvement, or just a product of stress? Probably just the product of stress, nothing I could do about it, just let him work through it how he wanted to and offer support when he needed it. Right now though, deep breaths, act casual, wait for this doctor to come along and check up on us. Probably tell me that I was doing a crap job and all that. How fun.

The doctor arrived within the hour, and looked just as I expected a doctor sent from Mycroft to look like. Older, obviously been in the profession for years, stern and probably took no prisoners. Perfect for taming Sherlock and getting him to do what was needed when he was in a mood. The doctor took one look at me, and immediately looked disapproving.

“Where’s Sherlock?” He asked, looking into the flat, more disapproving looks.

“Inside, on the chair over there. Sherlock, doctor’s here.” I resisted the urge to tell this doctor that the flat was our home, and so he could withhold judgement on it. It was Sherlock’s home, and he was uncomfortable enough without this man coming in and disapproving of it.

“I heard.” Sherlock stood up and glared at the doctor, a hint of the old untouchable aura coming back to him. Though he still looked small and dare I say it, _weak._

“Hello Sherlock, my name is-”

“We’ve met before; I don’t care for the niceties right now. Do whatever you need to do check wise, I’m spending this stupid session in my Mind Palace. Any questions you can ask John, because he’s been doing an _excellent_ job at looking after me, so much so you don’t have to be here.” Sherlock hissed, flopping onto the couch. I hadn’t seen him expressing so much emotion other than the innate sadness in weeks.

“Very well. So how has Sherlock’s food intake been?” The doctor got to work, checking Sherlock’s blood pressure as he asked.

“Fine, better than usual from what I can tell. I’ve got him from one meal and a few snacks to breakfast, dinner, and snacks in between. So far, on days off I’ve managed to get him eating lunch too. It’s not perfect, but it’s better than it was. I’ve only had a week so far though, I am getting there.” I explained, putting emphasis on the fact _I’d only had a week_ so far. I was doctor, not a miracle worker.

“Right, is he sleeping okay?” Blood pressure looked okay, onto heart rate.

“With the aid of sleeping pills I guess so. I mean, I give him the pills before I go to sleep, and Sherlock’s usually up before me, but he’s always been an insomniac who slept for about three hours a day without much issue. And most medication moves through his system quickly too, from his drug addict days he’s got a high tolerance. I’ve figured that he’s been sleeping about four to five hours a night. Again, better than before, when he was getting nothing.” I answered; heart rate seemed good judging by this guy’s face (he wasn't letting me see the screen... asshole). Then again, he could have been trained to hide any worries from his face by Mycroft... Did I trust this guy or not?

“Okay then, now how the hell are we going to do a weight check when he’s in his Mind Palace?” Doctor sighed to himself, ah-ha, _not so good now are we?_

“Put it simply, you don’t. I wouldn’t risk moving him and making him grumpier than he is right now. I wouldn’t say he’s had a chance to start putting on any serious amounts of weight right now.” I shrugged; I’d never even dared to move Sherlock while he was in his Mind Palace, figuring it wouldn’t end well, considering the man wouldn’t even let anybody in the room with him while he was in there.

“Can’t be that hard to move him. I’m not fancying waking him up, that didn’t go down well last time.” Doctor sighed, just when had he looked over Sherlock? Probably best not ask, he wasn’t one for sharing, it wasn’t like I’d ever gotten an answer before.

“I wouldn’t try it if I were you. He’s not been very good when someone has touched him unexpectedly recently.” I really would not have tried it, Sherlock had already had fits of panic when someone had touched him before, and that while he was mostly in the room. Being touched while he was half aware of his surroundings, while stressed, while in his Mind Palace, _bad idea. Very, very bad idea._

“Well I need to weigh him, he’s been fine so far, and if you want to wake him up and have him resisting, that’s your call.” The doctor reached out and grabbed onto Sherlock’s shoulder, starting to haul him up.

In the blink of an eye, Sherlock had tensed up and then hit out at the doctor, having him pinned to the floor by the neck, heaving in breath with wild eyes.

“Don’t _ever_ try to touch me again! Don’t _ever_ try to force me away again!” Sherlock hissed.


	85. Chapter 85

84 Sherlock's POV                           

Getting inside the Mind Palace was difficult when I knew what was going to happen to me now. That so called doctor was going to come in and touch me, check up on me for no reason other than Mycroft had ordered him to. I didn’t want him here; I didn’t want him near me. I didn’t like it when strangers touched me, they didn’t feel safe, they weren’t right for the job. They... They were just _wrong_ in touching me; I didn’t like it at all. But I couldn’t stop them this time. _That’s right, you can’t stop them, you have to go through it. You have to let him give you a check up, let him reveal just how little you’ve improved since John moved in, find out all those terrible secrets of yours. If you don’t, you’ll piss John off at the very least. He’s already annoyed this morning, you’ll make it worse._

I took a deep breath, and forced myself into my Mind Palace. There was no way in hell I was going to manage to get through this examination awake; the best bet was to just hide in there for a while. _That’s right, go find Redbeard and play with him like a ridiculous child._ Whatever, if I wanted to play with my dog to calm me down, I was going to damn well play with my dog.

“Redbeard, come here boy!” I called out to him as I wandered down the halls, checking quickly that everything was in good order. Some of the locks on the doors were locked up tight, just like I wanted, though some looked a little shaky, I’d see about changing that soon, redo the locks to make sure nothing got out. Right now though, I needed my dog.

He soon came running out to me, greeting me outside 221b’s door, jumping into my arms and licking my face. “Hello boy, how have you been?” I stroked his fur, pressing my face into him too. My tense muscles relaxing a little at his playful licks, his fur stroking through my fingers, as soft as it always was after a bath.

On the outside, I felt something tighten around my arm. **Blood pressure cuff.** Clearly a blood pressure cuff, judging by its tightening and position. _Maybe it’s a hand grabbing you and hauling you away!_ It was definitely a blood pressure cuff, no human hand could tighten this much around my arm, and it wasn’t warm like human hands either. There was a beeping sound too; it was a blood pressure cuff. _They’re fooling you._ No they weren’t. John wasn’t going to let this doctor take me away; anyway, I’d deduced him when I saw him. I’d been treated by him before anyway; he was just a doctor, nothing more. There hadn’t been anybody else there either. It was just him and John. And John wasn’t about to let me be taken away. _How do you know? Maybe he’s had enough after a week and decided to put you out of your misery._ Unlikely, I’d have read that in his movements already.

Redbeard barked at me as I stopped stroking his fur, so I picked up stroking him again, huddling closer into his heat. “Sorry boy, I’m still here. Just a little distracted.” I apologised, pushing into his side.

_But what if John is letting you go? What if after this week, he’s decided that you’re useless and it’s better to put you down. You’ve hardly been entertaining as of late, no cases, not even leaving the house, lying to him and everything else. What if this doctor is here to do the final checks before either sending you off to a facility, or before putting you down?_ No, John wasn’t like that. John was kind, John would have told me. He would have, he would tell me if I was going away. There would have been signs, there haven’t been any signs! _You’ve not been taking your pills Sherlock, or sleeping at all. You’re defying your doctor’s orders, defying all the doctor’s orders. What if everyone’s just realised that it’s easier to let proper doctors look after you in a facility. You’d be out of everyone’s hair as they want, and they won’t have to feel guilty about any of it because you’d be ‘looked after’ by professionals at all hours of the day. It’s for the best, really, it is._  

No it wasn’t! It wasn’t for the best; none of it was for the best! I was fine; I was functioning fine at home! It had only been a week, I’d be good, I’d be so good! I would do as I was asked and everything, I just, I just didn’t want to lose my brain. _You just don’t want to be seen as anything less than extraordinary, well too late, you’re not anymore. Everyone sees you as a broken machine. They’ve been circling this decision for so long it’s not even funny anymore._

Something cold touched my chest above my heart, **stethoscope, just a stethoscope. Calm down, force yourself to calm down! Appear normal, appear normal!** _You’re going away no matter what! You’ll always go away! In the end, nobody is ever going to let you continue in the outside world. You can’t cope out here._ I could, I could cope!

A hand grabbed my shoulder, starting to move my entire body. _You’re being taken away!_

In seconds, I was out of the Mind Palace and had the doctor pinned to the floor by the neck, immobilising the hand that had grabbed me.

“Don’t _ever_ try to touch me again! Don’t _ever_ try to force me away again!” I growled at the doctor, not caring if he couldn’t breathe. He didn’t get to make these decisions, didn’t get to do this to me! I was a damn human being, he wasn’t taking me away from my home and everything I held dear like this!

“Sherlock! Sherlock, hey can you hear me?” John’s voice came somewhere from the left, he slowly came into my vision, hands held up in innocence.

“Sherlock, it’s John, you’re in 221b Baker Street, you’re home. You need to let this man go, he wasn’t trying to hurt you.” John promised in a condescending voice.

“I’m not going away! He can’t make me!” I glared at the doctor.

“You’re not going anywhere Sherlock; I won’t let anyone take you away. But I need you to let this doctor go, you’re choking him, he can’t breathe.” John told me.

“Of course he can breathe; I’m not holding him that hard. He can breathe just fine.” Neither of these two knew what it was like to not be able to breathe, they didn’t know what it was like to be held underwater, feeling the water filling your lungs, your vision blacking out seconds before you were hauled out into the air again. They didn’t know what it was like to heave in a lungful of air before it was taken again, _they had no damn idea._ This doctor could breathe, I could feel his windpipe working under my palm, he didn’t have a damn clue!

“No, no Sherlock he can’t. You have to let him go, let him breathe... I’m going to reach out and touch you now, I’m going to hold onto your wrist and move your hand away from this doctor’s throat, okay?” A hand reached out and grabbed onto my wrist, pulling it away from the choking man’s throat.

“Okay, that’s good Sherlock, very good. Now how about if we let this man go? He was only trying to move you so he could check how much you weighed, that’s all. He wasn’t taking you away; he was just doing a routine check up. So how about we let him go, he’s not going to hurt you, he’s just going to leave. And that’s a good thing, isn’t it? That’s what you want, right? For him to leave?” John pried my hand away from the doctor’s wrist, leaving him to scramble to his feet and out the door.

It slammed behind him and as it did, it felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room. The reality of it all hit me square in the face. I’d just attacked a man, I’d just... I’d just attacked a man in my own front room. In front of John. I’d just... I couldn’t... _really shown your hand this time. Now John can see how dangerous you are. You’ve planted the seed of doubt into his mind; he can see that you’re dangerous now._

“I-I, I’m sorry. I didn’t... I’m sorry!” I didn’t mean for that to happen! I didn’t mean to do that! I just didn’t want to go; I didn’t want to go anywhere. I’d thought he’d take me away and I’d panicked! That hadn’t been what I’d wanted to do!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments/kudos! :D


	86. Chapter 86

85 Sherlock's POV

I raced out of the room, slamming and locking my bedroom door and heaving in breath. I couldn’t believe I’d just done that, I’d just... I’d just attacked a doctor, I didn’t mean to. I just got scared, that was all, I thought he was going to take me away and I panicked! It wasn’t my intention to attack him, it just happened before I knew what happened!

_Now you’ve done it, you’ve just attacked someone in front of John, if he ever wants to be near you ever again you’ll be lucky._ I didn’t mean to do it! My reflexes, they did it! _Nice excuse, shame it doesn’t wash with anyone. ‘Oh my reflexes did it’ sounds pathetic; nobody is going to believe you. They’re just going to see you as a dangerous psychopath and send you off to an institution._ But I hadn’t meant to do it! That had really been because of reflexes, I thought I was being taken away and I reacted without thinking! I’d been so used to it while I was away, being grabbed always caused a reaction, this time it was violent! I hadn’t meant to actually hurt anyone!

“Sherlock! Come on; don’t hide in there, its okay. You had a bad reaction, its okay; you don’t need to hide in there.” John called through the door, though made no move to open the door. _He’s scared to open the door in case you attack him._

“Sherlock, it’s okay. We all know you didn’t mean to do that, you were stressed, and it’s understandable for someone with... someone who’s stressed like you are. I don’t blame you, and I’m sure that the doctor doesn’t either.” John continued, _he’s lying! He blames you entirely! This is all your fault!_

“Do you need a while alone, to breathe and calm down? Because I can go and leave you for a bit.” John sighed; _he can’t be bothered to deal with you right now. And not just because you could attack him too, but because he can’t be bothered to deal with you crying like an idiot._

“P-Please. I-I just...” I didn’t even know what I wanted. I didn’t want to be alone right now, but I wanted to hide away and never show my face ever again. I couldn’t believe what I’d just done, I wasn’t... I hadn’t attacked anybody since I’d come back. Not even when Mycroft took me to his house and I’d been stressed then, thinking the same things. But this time I’d attacked someone, I’d _hurt_ someone. Not again, I couldn’t do it again. I wanted to make things better too, I wanted, I wanted to apologise over and over, promise to never do it again. But I never wanted to show my face again, never again come into contact with someone, in case I hurt them. I didn’t want to hurt anybody.

“I’m going to stay outside the door, okay? I’m just going to sit outside, I won’t come in if you don’t want me to, and I won’t talk either if you don’t want me to. But I’m just outside, if you need anything.” The sound of John sitting down outside the door was heard, and then the only sound in the house was my ragged breath as I tried to gain some semblance of calm.

_You’re an idiot, the way you reacted back there was unbelievably stupid. John’s already scared to touch you, he’s never going to touch you ever again, if you’re lucky he’ll stay, if not, he’s never coming back here after that. And word is going to spread round everywhere that you’re dangerous, and soon everything is going to come out about everything you did while you were away. You’re going to prove Anderson and Donovan right, you really are a psychopath._

God no, please God no. I didn’t mean to do any of it! I’d been trying to protect myself, it was a muscle reflex! If I had _any_ semblance of control I wouldn’t have done it! _Admitting you don’t have any control, that’s a first!_ No, no, no that wasn’t what I meant! Ah damn it, everyone should shut up! Just stop talking and leave it out and damn it I made a mistake, leave me alone!

For hours I sat and shivered in my room, scared of my actions and feeling so guilty for everything I was doing. And all the time, John sat outside the door, waiting patiently. He didn’t once comment or say anything, or move away. He just sat outside, waiting for me.

“Sherlock, you ready to come out yet? Or do you want some tea, anything like that?” John asked after I’d been quiet for a bit.

“N-No.” I didn’t want to talk right now, I couldn’t. I couldn’t go out there, couldn’t face him. If I went out there, I was going to end up talking about it, we couldn’t talk about it! It wouldn’t end well!

“Alright, want me to leave?” John asked.

“Y-Yes, please. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” I apologised over and over, I hadn’t meant to, I hadn’t meant to!

“I know, its okay Sherlock. I know you didn’t mean it, everybody does.” John sighed, getting up and leaving.

_He’s never going to trust you again, when you leave this room and see him in the morning; he’s going to look at you like you’re a monster. Because you are a monster. You may have managed to ignore your murderous tendencies, but they are still there. You’re going to slip up and hurt John, and then where you will be? Alone, and mistrusted, never to be ever treated like a human being ever again._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back at uni tomorrow (noooooooooooo) but that shouldn't change the update days because for the next two weeks I'm only in on Thursdays. But after that I've got a summer school which apparently isn't compulsory-but-still-could-be-nobody-tells-us-anything so currently, it looks like I'll still be able to update as usual, but I may not, depending on if I have to go to anything in particular/workload. I'll keep you updated as I find out what's actually going on!  
> I'll most probably tweet about it first so you can follow me @corruptedpov.  
> Or possibly message me on tumblr if you want to as well - effulgentcorruptedpov.  
> And just for the hell of it, if you want to check out my vlog channel it's mydreamsofwriting.


	87. Chapter 87

86 John's POV

I’d seen people react like this before while out in Afghanistan, having panic attacks and questioning their morals after the first time they’d shot someone. I’d seen even more of it while in recovery after being shot, so many soldiers suffering from PTSD, going on the offensive and attacking doctors without meaning to. But to see it in Sherlock, someone who was so tightly controlled, it was scary. Even after he’d had several panic attacks and was so wildly different from what I was used to, to see him lose control like that... I didn’t know what to think of it. All I knew was it was probably best to give him some space, while still remaining close, just in case.

I’d give him until morning, but if he stayed cooped up any longer than that, I was going to have to bring him out, then we’d be having a talk. This couldn’t turn into a habit, a go-to response to fear and unknown situations. I couldn’t let this become any worse, had to nip it in the bud quickly. Talking would help, setting up some contingencies for Sherlock, so he felt safe, so he didn’t need to attack. From previous experience, putting preventative measure in first helped reduce the risk of further violent behaviour. The soldiers I’d seen turn violent improved greatly once out of the stressful places. No completely healed, but _better_ at the least.

The next morning, Sherlock was still in his room, door firmly closed. I had expected it, but I’d sort of hoped he would come back out on his own, so I didn’t become the bad guy, in the sense that I now had to go in and get him.

“Sherlock are you okay in there?” I knocked on his door as gently as I could.

“F-Fine.” Came the weak reply, voice shivering.

“Well do you want to come out now? I’m making breakfast,” Did I tell him that we needed to talk, or did I ambush him with it? Should probably warn him, just in case. “We need to talk too. Nothing bad, but it’s important to talk about yesterday.” I sighed, it wasn’t going to be easy to convince Sherlock to talk, he was never one for talking about anything, let alone emotions.

“I-I... I don’t want to. I know what you’re going to say.” Sherlock sounded so resigned, like our talk was going to tear his entire world down. I doubted it, I just wanted to make sure he was okay after yesterday, and to try and ensure it wasn’t going to happen again.

“Well it is necessary, okay? It’s really important we talk and sort things out, so yesterday doesn’t happen again. I’d rather not do it through the door either, it makes it awkward.” I would have much preferred to do this between a door, emotions were _difficult_ to talk about. But this needed to be done face to face, so I knew that Sherlock understood, that he wasn't beating himself up too much. I had to have him face to face to stop him clamming up and lying further, so he could read me too. Reading me would do him a bit of good too, so he knew I wasn't angry at him, that I understood a bit.  

“C-Can you give me a minute?” Sherlock asked in barely a whisper, it was a wonder I actually heard it.

“Sure I can. I’ll put some tea on and get some breakfast ready. Fancy some toast?” Sherlock probably wouldn’t eat it, but it was worth a shot. Mycroft would kill me if I didn’t look after Sherlock to his standards, he’d already texted me today, telling me to sort out this mess in less than kind words. I wasn’t exactly going to go against him; though I did sort of wish he’d take the pressure off a little. It felt suffocating.

 I could still see the words **_‘fix him now - MH’_** which I had been sent after I told him to calm down because I was going to fix his precious brother, every time I closed my eyes. Damn it I could actually sort out Sherlock myself without prodding from an unqualified brother! I had been to bloody war and back, I’d _seen_ things like this before in soldiers, and that was without mentioning that I was a bloody qualified doctor! I didn’t need an overprotective big brother trying to scare me into action; I was _going into action_ without his damn guidance... If only I could say that to Mycroft without knowing I’d get yanked from 221b and away from Sherlock. I had to make up for abandoning him and making him worse earlier this year, I had to stay with him and make him better. But if I provoked Mycroft I’d never get the chance. So I had to stay and behave under Mycroft’s eye, no matter how badly I wanted to punch the twat in the face.

“Please.” Sherlock answered, so I left to make breakfast.

Sherlock’s door opened a few minutes later, but I pointedly didn’t look round, giving Sherlock his space as he went for a shower. As I heard the water running, I realised that I hadn’t actually heard the man shower since I’d moved back in... He’d always been clean though, hadn’t once looked dirty, always perfectly presented... He must have been showering while I was at work, bit strange behaviour.

Then again, I hadn’t even seen him in pyjamas recently either. If I remembered correctly, I hadn’t seen Sherlock in anything less than full suit-and-dressing-gown/coat combo since we’d been seeing each other again. Now while that wasn’t completely out of the realm of normalcy, Sherlock usually didn’t mind wandering around the flat in his pyjamas when there wasn’t a case on, or he was in a dark mood, or anything of the sort. Hell, he’d wandered around in a sheet in the mornings, now he was always presentable. Maybe he was hiding the wounds on his back? No... Wearing his pyjamas wouldn’t have affected that, they covered his back... Strange, I’d have to question that on a better day. For now, I was better off sorting out this problem and ignoring everything else for a while.

Soon, the bathroom door opened and a full presentable Sherlock came out. If it wasn’t for his less than confident movement and scared, down trodden expression, I’d have mistaken him for the man he’d been before any of this happened.

“Hey.” I started, handing him the toast I’d freshly buttered and microwaved for him. Sherlock had never eaten toast unless all the butter had melted into it, he couldn’t stand unmelted butter.

“Morning.” Sherlock whispered, curling up in his chair. He’d forgone the dressing gown today, that was new.

“How are you feeling now, any better?” Better not beat around the bush, get straight to the point of the subject.

“A-A little, I guess. I didn’t know it was going to happen, I just... One minute I was in my Mind Palace with Red-... I mean, in my Mind Palace, and the next h-he was on the floor. I just... it just happened.” Sherlock picked at the toast, unable to look at me. His fingers took turns lifting off the piece of toast. First finger, second, third, fourth. First, fourth, second, third. First, third, second, fourth. Over and over. Then the thumb joined in the pattern, lifting up and down over and over.

“I know, I understand. I’ve seen it before in other sold-” _don’t say soldier, Sherlock isn’t a soldier,_ “people. They got defensive of themselves when they got scared, so they panicked and lashed out. Quite common, nothing I haven’t seen before, that doctor has probably seen it before too. It isn’t anything to be ashamed of either, it just happened, we can work on it.” I wanted to reach out and hold his hand, reassure him that this was going to end up okay. But I was still a bit scared to touch him, just in case I hurt him and made him react like he did yesterday, or hurt him in some way. Sherlock looked even more fragile than glass right now, I was scared to touch him and have him break into a million pieces.

“I-If you say so.” Sherlock nodded, “Was that what you wanted to talk about?” A wince followed the question.

“Erm, no, it wasn’t.” How did I put this, and how did I stop him from looking like a kicked puppy? He literally looked like I’d just kicked him, and now the fear in his eyes; oh it broke my heart to see the fear in his eyes.

“It’s nothing bad, okay? Promise, I’m just insuring that this doesn’t happen again, or at least try and prevent it from happening again.” This time I had to reach out and touch his hand, couldn’t stand the accepting nod of his head, the resignation on his face, like I was sending him to a death sentence.

“Sherlock, look at me a minute, I want you to look at me, so you understand and know that I’m not lying to you... It’s actually what I’m talking about now.” I gently coaxed him into looking at me. Well, my general direction anyway.

“What I’m proposing is that we make a new rule. Not anything restrictive or anything, but something that should hopefully make you feel safer in situations like yesterdays... I think we should start a ‘no lies’ rule, so you know exactly what is going on in doctors’ appointments, or anything like that. Anything you want to question me about, you can. I’ll answer any question I can, or get the best person to answer to explain the situation better. I’m guessing you were scared of being taken back to a hospital yesterday, and were protecting yourself from going back, am I right?” I got a nod, “So by applying the no lying rule, you’ll know that that is _not_ happening, because I’d tell you if that was happening well in advance. Do you think that would make you more comfortable in situations like this?” I watched him carefully, looking for any signs of discomfort.

“I-I guess... Does that rule apply the other way round? I, there are things that I... It’s complicated.” Sherlock twitched and winced as he said it.

“Tell you what, I’ll let you keep whatever secret you want, _but_ if it applies directly to the situation, I want you to at least give me a little hint that something is wrong. Say we go to a crime scene, and there’s something there that upsets you for whatever reason, you can tell me that something is upsetting you and we can go, or do what we can to  calm you down a bit. You don’t have to tell me why something is upsetting you, or any specifics, just give me a little outline, yeah? So I’m not wandering through the dark blindly. Does that sound good? So you know exactly what’s going on with everything concerning doctors and such, and I can have a little heads up when you’re not feeling 100% at your best. Think we can agree to that?” I tried to give a reassuring smile, letting Sherlock think it over for a few seconds.

“O-Okay. We can do that, if that’s what you want.” Sherlock nodded, thank God for that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pinch, punch first day of the month! :P  
> Thanks for all the comments/kudos!


	88. Chapter 88

87 Sherlock's POV

John was holding onto my hand, had grabbed hold of my hand first and held on for longer than what was deemed necessary for reassurance. I’d have said or done anything to make sure he never let go again, to keep his hand on mine, so we had some of that long awaited contact. John didn’t touch me anymore, he didn’t put his hand on my arm in reassurance or anything, not like he used to. If anything, he _avoided_ touching me altogether. But he was touching me now, and it felt _so good,_ like I could breathe again, like I hadn’t just screwed everything up between us because of that one stupid mistake of losing control.

“Good, I’m glad we can agree on this, it’ll make things so much easier, I promise... Now I need to get to work, so I’ll see you later, alright?” John let my hand go, severing that calm contact.

“You have work?” I found myself asking without realising, I hadn’t meant to ask that! _Should pay more attention to John’s working hours. He is always working during the weekdays now, how could you possibly not notice?_

“Yeah, you know I do. It’s only a morning shift though, so I should be back by half three. You’re going to be alright on your own, aren’t you? Cause if not, I can call in sick, I haven’t taken a day off at this clinic in a year so they owe me some time off if you need me to stay.” John stopped pulling on his coat, glancing at one of the supposed hidden cameras in the room. _He knows Mycroft is watching, and if he doesn’t do a good job with you, he’s suffering the wrath of Big Brother._

“I-It’s fine, I’ll be okay here.” I’d be okay, I’d just... I’d find something to do. Possibly try to sleep, or do some research into calming the hell down so I didn’t attack someone again. _Well you are escalating, first with Molly, now that doctor. Soon you’ll be fighting **John** and **killing** him. Then everyone will see that you’re a dangerous serial killer. _

“You sure? You don’t look so well. I can really stay at home, it’s not an issue.” John insisted.

“It’s fine, you can go.” I couldn’t take him away from work right now and ask him to keep an eye on me. I didn’t need it, I could manage. _It’s safer to be alone; you can’t hurt anybody when you’re alone._

“Alright, I’ll trust you. But ring me if you need anything, _anything_ at all, okay? If you need to talk or anything, I’ll pick up. I’ll text Lestrade as well, see if he’s got any nice cold cases to take your mind off things... Want me to ask Mrs Hudson if she’ll bake anything for us? I’m sure she’d be more than happy to bake us some of those peanut butter cookies you used to like.” John suggested, why was he being so damn _nice_ right now? _So you don’t attack him, obviously._

“Her wrist and hip are playing up; she can’t mix batter without pain.” I’d seen her rubbing her wrist and her use of ‘herbal soothers’ had gone up 20% this week, she couldn’t mix batter right now without pain, let alone lift things in and out of an oven.

“Fair enough, how about if I pick something up on the way home?” John asked, I agreed and he left with one last order to ring him if I needed anything.

The flat felt even more oppressive and small on my own.

It was all of a sudden too quiet; there were no distractions around to stop the memories of yesterday come flooding through my head. All I could think about was the fact that I’d just attacked someone, actually attacked one of Mycroft’s men. _He’s not going to forget about this in a hurry. He’ll see you sectioned if you don’t start to behave._ I know, I know, I was trying! I didn’t, I didn’t mean to do it, I really didn’t mean to hurt anybody! _In front of John too, **so** irresponsible, he’s going to think about you all day at work today. He’s going to think about how dangerous you’re becoming, about his safety, Mrs Hudson’s safety. Maybe he’ll talk to Lestrade too about everybody’s safety from you. If they all agree, which they will, all it will take is one word to Mycroft and you’ll be whisked away to a facility far away, never to hurt anybody again. _

No, no, didn’t want to know! Didn’t want to think about it, didn’t, couldn’t... It wasn’t happening! _Of course it will! You’re **attacking** people now; nobody can trust you because of it. How is anybody going to trust you if all they can think about is you trying to kill them if they move wrong?! _Because I wasn’t going to hurt them! _Yes you will. And when you do, they’ll look into the causes of it, look into what you did. Then they’ll see all the bodies you’ve left behind all over the world. If they’re feeling merciful you’ll be put in prison, if not, it’s the firing squad for decommission._ NO!

“It’s only me dear, no need to be shouting like that!” Mrs Hudson came in, “Oh what are all the tears for? Is everything okay?” Tears, what tears?!

“I-I’m not crying.” I wasn’t, I hadn’t... I reached up and wiped my face, finding wet trails there... When did I start crying?! _When you realised you’re living on borrowed time, stupid._

“It is okay to show emotion sometimes Sherlock. It’s not a bad thing, come here.” She wrapped an arm around my shoulders.

“D-Don’t, I’ll hurt you!” I weakly squirmed away, terrified of actually hurting her. _You will if she comes any closer._

“Nonsense, I trust you. I’m not going to hurt you, it’s just a hug. Just relax a little and breathe.” Mrs Hudson insisted, gently letting me lean against her side, hand rubbing my arm.

I forced myself to breathe and relax my muscles, reminding myself over and over that it was just Mrs Hudson. Just Mrs Hudson, completely harmless Mrs Hudson, not going to hurt me at all. Just a harmless lady, who I had known for years. _Until you do hurt her. You’ll never see her again if you hurt her. Let alone **kill** her. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments/kudos! :D


	89. Chapter 89

88 Sherlock's POV                

“Do you want to talk about it?” Mrs Hudson asked after a few minutes of silence.

“No.” I didn’t want to mention what happened ever again. Never, _ever_ again. Especially in front of someone else, in case I hurt them again. I couldn’t hurt someone again, I couldn’t, it wouldn’t be good. Not anybody I loved, I couldn’t be a monster, couldn’t be a psychopathic monster. _Too late, you already are a psychopathic monster._ No, no I really wasn’t. I just... I just didn’t do well under stress.

“Alright, but I’m just downstairs if you need me. Even if it’s just a shoulder to cry on, or a hug, you just need to run down, I’m nearly always there, or will be very soon after.” Mrs Hudson promised, “Now how about some tea?” She broke from the embrace, going through the motions of making tea, gently prodding me to drink mine, chatting inanely, but comfortingly, until we heard footsteps on the stairs.

Not John’s, it wasn’t anywhere near three in the afternoon. There was the tap of an umbrella. _Mycroft._ Damn. _Did you really think you would avoid dearest big brother? After a display like that, you aren’t going to get away from it._ I had hoped he wouldn’t come... _idiot, of course he was coming! You **attacked** one of his agents, of course he’s back for a ‘chat’ probably brought some secure psych ward brochures with him, letting you ‘choose’ where you’ll end up so you have a feeling of being in control. Mummy is going to be **so** disappointed in you. Again. _

“Oh hello Mycroft, tea?” Mrs Hudson stood to make more.

“No thank you Mrs Hudson. I won’t be staying long,” Mycroft smiled his creepy ‘I’m smiling to placate you without knowing what a smile is’ smile. _He’s not staying long because he’s taking you with him. Pack a bag, you’re not coming back._ “And no Sherlock, you’re not coming with me either, unless that is what you wish.” His smile turned from placating to gloating when he looked at me. _He’s won the ‘best, sane sibling’ award, he’s never let the family down or become a violent disgrace, of course he’s gloating._

“Though I do wish to have this conversation alone, if that’s not too much trouble, I’m sure Sherlock doesn’t want to have our conversation in front of an audience, no matter how old the friend is.” _Friend? Who is Mycroft kidding? More like carer than anything!_

“Alright, Sherlock, remember what I said though. I’m just downstairs if you need anything.” Mrs Hudson ran a hand through my hair and squeezed my shoulder as she left, leaving me and Mycroft alone. Fuck this wasn’t going to be a nice conversation. _Put on the normal arrogant persona, with any luck Mycroft won’t think you’re totally broken._

“Come to take me away again _Brother Dear_? What’s it to be this time, the firing range or the secure unit?” _Showed your hand a bit too much there didn’t you?_

“Only if you wish to go away to sort yourself out Sherlock, we all know I’ve never managed to get you to do anything you haven’t wished to do before.” Mycroft sighed, taking a seat next to me at the table.

“Says the man who’s dragged me into five different rehab facilities. And back to our parent’s house several more times.” He didn’t need to drag me anywhere; he just threatened me enough times and twisted my arm until I couldn’t do anything to stop him. I could take him in a physical fight though, take away all his security and I could easily asphyxiate him. No, that was not good. So not good. I wasn’t going to start thinking about killing people I knew for God sake! _Hey, told you that you were a psychopath didn’t I?_

“I did not drag you; I just made sure you got to where you needed to be by less than pleasant force.” Mycroft countered.

“Don’t twist things to your advantage Mycroft, get to the point, what do you want this time?” I leant back in my chair, trying to look relaxed; it probably looked anything but relaxed.

“You attacked one of my men yesterday because he touched you, does that remind you of anything that happened with a certain person who works in the morgue?” Mycroft made me wince, damn it did he have to bring _that_ up?

“Well he shouldn’t have touched me without my permission then should he?” I glared at him; Mycroft knew I didn’t like being touched by people, especially when stressed. The doctor should have been warned.

“I agree that he shouldn’t have done anything without informing you first, but in his defence, _you_ were playing hide and seek in that ridiculous Mind Palace of yours.” Mycroft answered, _he’s always thought everything you’ve done was ridiculous._

“That was me trying to keep calm, considering I don’t need a damn doctor’s visit when _I live with a doctor._ He still shouldn’t have touched me though, if he needed to say something to me, he should have tapped me or something, not full on grabbed and yanked!” I hissed, that doctor shouldn’t have touched me damn it! _You’re getting angry again! Going to attack your brother this time are you? Your very important, very powerful brother?_ Nope, no, no. **Breathe, calm down. Just a conversation, just having a conversation.**

“I shall endeavour to remember that. Now shall we call a small compromise, if I trust John to look after you, I’ll stop bringing in doctors to check up on the two of you. In return, you must try to keep calm under stress, we can’t have you constantly running amok and attacking people, alright? You have got to learn how to fight this urge and calm yourself down. Nobody is actually going to attack you, you’re not going to be harmed by anybody around you, so you can relax.” Like it was that damn easy.

“I mean it Sherlock, calm down. My doctor recommended a stay in a facility after that stunt, and for now I have decided to ignore him because of your predisposition against being placed in any type of hospital. However I cannot let this violence continue and will help with anything you need. I can arrange for any type of help you want, be it therapists, a stay in a facility to help you, even if it means some time at a gym to get this violence out of your system. I have no issue with providing you with the tools you need to calm down and carry on with your life as you need to. Now come on, be honest with me, is there anything you need?” Mycroft almost looked sincere as he said it, but I couldn’t help but see and feel the underlying condescension in his tone, the gloating sense that he was better than me an able to do anything he liked to sort me out. I _hated_ it.

“I need you to leave me that hell alone and let me get on with my life. If I want something, I will ask you, right now though, I want you out of here.” I growled, hating the power my brother had over me, the power he _always_ had over me. Just because he was the supposed normal one who’d never had an outburst in his life, didn’t mean I deserved to be treated like an imbecile. _What would you prefer, treated like you were stupid, or like a danger to society?_ Neither. I wanted to be treated like I was me. _Like a stupid, childish danger to society then._ Shut the hell up!

“Sherlock, stop acting like you’re totally fine and admit you need help. If not to me, then to Doctor Watson, he’s had some experience in this field and he can help. I won’t like it, but I’ll just be glad you’re seeking help... and please phone Mummy, she is rather worried about you. I can only put her and Daddy off for so long before they start coming round. And Christmas is coming up; they will want to see us both because it’s been so long.” Mycroft sighed and stood up, “Goodbye brother, think over what I said please. If not for me, but for the people around you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comment/kudos I really do love hearing what you guys think of where this is going! :)  
> Also a few weeks back I mentioned that adds may become few and far between because I have a 'summer school' on a uni, but recently I've found out that it's actually a non-compulsory, first-come-first-serve kinda thing so I'm probably not going to be going to anything, so updates should continue as normal!


	90. Chapter 90

89 John's POV                                                         

I couldn’t concentrate the entire morning at the surgery, too busy worrying about Sherlock. I shouldn’t have left him like that, not after this weekend. But I couldn’t smother him, could I? If I did that, I could make him worse... He’d said he would be okay, so he would be, right? Sherlock did know his own mind, in a way he did anyway. I mean, he liked to talk to himself and sometimes seemed to be having full conversations with someone that wasn’t there, and he had just attacked someone in self defence before having a full scale meltdown over it. But he knew his own mind well enough to determine whether or not he was alright alone, right?

I’d left him with Mrs Hudson, with _Mrs Hudson._ Shit what if he had a bad turn again and hurt her? I’d never forgive myself for letting that happen. _Sherlock_ would never forgive _himself_ for hurting her, he’d put a man in hospital just for laying a hand on her before. Oh God what had I done?!

I rushed to phone Mrs Hudson between patients, luckily she answered, saying that she and Sherlock were perfectly fine. Mycroft was home now; _shit..._ well if Mycroft got hurt I could almost be okay with that, considering the way he was acting. But, would Sherlock be okay with that? He wasn’t a bad person, he didn’t like hurting people... Fuck this wasn’t good.

In the end, I left work early, rushing home in fear of leaving Sherlock alone and missing something serious. _Please don’t let anybody be hurt, please, please, please._

Getting into Baker Street, I could hear Mrs Hudson’s TV playing - that was completely normal. Normal TV playing meant a normal day. Still, better take caution, take the stairs slowly, but make sure Sherlock knew it was me. I better knock before I came in, just in case.

“Yes Mummy I know... It has been a long time, nearly three years yes... But Mycroft has been keeping you up to date with everything hasn’t he? I thought so, he said he had... O-Okay, I’ll try and come down... No, no don’t come down here! Why? Well because there’s nowhere to stay... Mycroft is never in; staying at his would be like being in an incredibly over-guarded posh prison.” Sherlock was saying, _Mummy?_ He was talking to his _Mother_ right now? And was that discussion of seeing her?

I didn’t have a clue on what to make of that.

“I’ll come down okay?! I’ll sort something out, give me a while! I need time... No I’m fine Mummy... Tell Daddy that I’m fine and to stop worrying, I’m _fine..._ I could have told you Mycroft is an idiot anyway, but it’s not for sending me off on the mission.” Sherlock did not sound at all happy there; probably best to break this up.

Carefully, I knocked on the door, inching the door open. “Sherlock, it’s me, the surgery let me go early.” I said in the most even, calming voice I could manage.

“Shit! I’ve got to go... Yes right now! Yes I’ll phone you later, bye.” Sherlock cut off the phone call, practically hiding the phone behind his back, “Hello John. Did you have a nice day?” The mask went up in record time, and it could have fooled me if I didn’t know Sherlock very well. He was pulling a far too innocent face, hell he was _smiling,_ acting like he hadn’t been doing something naughty seconds beforehand. As far as I could tell, he wasn’t doing anything bad at all.

“Average really, just more flu and colds. One chest infection and two kids jabs. Was that an important phone call?” I decided it best to not pretend that the phone call hadn’t happened. No lying policy and all, better enact it from now.

“What? Oh, oh that phone call. No, just... Just my parents.” I could see the hesitation on his face, _tell or not tell,_ “They’re worried. Well not worried, but-” Sherlock managed.

“Missing you a bit?” I finished when he seemed to stumble.

“Yeah, I, I guess they are. It’s, well it’s been a while.” Sherlock winced a little a second after saying that.

“I can imagine. I haven’t seen Harry myself in about a year.” I shrugged, not admitting to the fact that I still spoke to her once a month on the phone. Great, now I was already lying. Well, it wasn’t exactly lying really. I was, I was trying to make Sherlock feel better. He probably hadn’t seen his parents since before he did his disappearing act, which must have carried some sort of guilt. Though, I didn’t actually know how long he usually went between visits.

“You should see her... if you want of course. I’m not telling you what... you know I’m not,” Words started tumbling out of Sherlock's mouth like he wasn’t exactly sure on how to stop them, his brain unable to stop trying to correct itself I guessed.

“I know what you mean Sherlock, no need to explain yourself. And I know I should, but we got busy you know? Last time I spoke to her she was going into rehab, finally quitting the drink and all that. I didn’t phone her in case I jinxed it, but she did text me six months ago to say she’d gotten clean and gotten herself a new job. I should probably still go and see her at some point though.” I thought that was a pretty convincing truth bend. I wouldn’t have lied at all if it hadn’t been for the fact that I was trying not to put Sherlock on edge even further because of his lack of contact with his own family. He’d sounded guilty on the phone; I didn’t want to worry him further.

“Really? That’s good, really good on her.” Sherlock managed another smile which didn’t reach his eyes, hands sliding into his pockets with nerves. He was trying so hard to appear normal; it kind of broke my heart. Or was he trying to make up for the violent weekend, trying to seem like a good person on the whole? I didn’t know, and if I was honest, I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm officially off uni for until June, where I'm only in for 3 manic days and then I am DONE for the year! Horray for me! :D  
> Thanks for the comments/kudos, I do love hearing what you guys think of this/where you think it's going and such!


	91. Chapter 91

90 Sherlock's POV                    

What was I doing?! I couldn’t... Why did I even try and phone Mummy up, it was going to end in me going to see her and Daddy, and then they’d see what I’d become and I didn’t want that! I shouldn’t have been phoning them, shouldn’t be promising coming down to see them. _In case you attack them._ No because I wasn’t going to attack anybody ever again. _Of course you won’t. Sure you’re not going to attack again, like you’ve got any control over this._

But they wouldn’t provoke me, they weren’t like that. _The last time they saw you when you weren’t your normal self, you screamed and freaked out because of their hovering and over-protective flapping about._ I wouldn’t hurt them, I loved them. _You nearly hurt Molly when she asked you out for dinner._ Fuck, shut up, I’d figure this out. I could stop it, get Mycroft to make up a lie every time they wanted to see me, or limit exposure to a few hours at most.

And they had to avoid John too, I didn’t want them meeting John. Not because I didn’t want to show them that I could make a friend, _carer,_ more that I didn’t... I didn’t want John to see them, they would... they could let something slip, do something to make him work out the Aspergers. He couldn’t know about that, he wouldn’t treat me like normal; he’d treat me like I was stupid or something. _Like he is now._ No worse than that, he’d be worse. Everyone was always worse when they found out.

“Hey Sherlock, you still there?” John placed a sandwich in front of me.

“Huh? Yeah, yeah I’m here. I didn’t go anywhere.” I hadn’t left the flat in a while, or the chair since I sat down. Where would I have gone? _It’s a freaking joke stupid._

“Good, I thought I would have to send a search party in to find you in that brain of yours.” John smiled, “You know, if you want to phone your parents again, I can go out. I don’t mind if you want to talk to them in private, I can leave for a bit, I’ve got some shopping to do anyway. So, think that’s a good idea?” John smiled that polite smile he had now. He wasn’t smiling because he was happy anymore; he was smiling because he had to. He had to do it to reassure me. I hated it. _You should be giving him real smiles with cases. If he goes out, phone Lestrade for a case before he really gets bored and leaves._

“I-If you want. You don’t have to go out, if you don’t want to.” I couldn’t put him out like that, just for a phone call. But I didn’t want him to see, I didn’t... I didn’t know what I wanted anymore, apart from going back to normal.

“It’s alright, I’ll go get the shopping, and you sort out whatever it is you need to... Though if you are planning a visit, just remember that Christmas is coming up soon. That could be a good time to meet up and everything. Have a think about it.” John got back up again, grabbing his coat, “Oh and eat that sandwich too, you need the sustenance. I’ll be back in about an hour and a half.”

Fuck, this wasn’t what I planned! I’d only phoned to stop Mycroft winding me up about it; I hadn’t meant to promise a visit! I didn’t want to go home, didn’t want them coming here either. It would go wrong; visits went _wrong,_ I was wrong, the entire thing would be wrong! And at Christmas no less! We never did Christmas, what were we thinking doing it now?!

But I had to do it now, because no doubt Mycroft was listening in too and he’d arrange it, if not just to stop our parents badgering him about me. _They don’t phone you though do they?_ They knew I didn’t like talking on the phone. Or surprise visits, they knew better than to do that.

With a shaking hand, I picked up the phone, calling the house I’d grown up in, getting answered within two rings before I could bottle it again.

“Sherlock dear, I didn’t expect a call back so soon!” Mummy sounded genuinely happy to hear from me again. _Well you’ve deemed it necessary to call her twice in one day; she’s probably going to think you’re slightly **normal** now. Too bad she’s completely wrong. _

“I erm, I had some free time... I thought I’d phone about... about a visit.” I winced as I said it, no turning back now.

“Really? Oh that’s brilliant! When were you thinking, and for how long? I’ll have to get some groceries in and make arrangements, is your friend John coming, or Mycroft for that matter? The more the merrier!” _The more people there, the less she has to talk to you._

“John isn’t coming no,” even if he wanted to, no way, no damn way, “but Mycroft will probably be available over Christmas.” No way was I letting big brother out of this, he guilt tripped me into this, he was suffering too.

“Wonderful! That’s only in a few months, it’ll be so nice to see you again, it’s been too long!” Mummy started talking about how long it had been since I’d seen her and such, I slightly switched off as she told me about Daddy losing his glasses down the back of the sofa _again._ “Mummy, Mummy, you told me this earlier! And I need to go. There are things I need to do, ask Mycroft for anything about arrangements and such, he knows more about these things than I do.” I managed to cut her off, I needed to hurry this up and get onto Lestrade damn it!

“Always off with those experiments of yours, you’ll have to tell us all about them when you come down. And bring the violin too; your father has missed hearing you play so much! Promise to call in the mean time, we do worry so much about you Sherlock, especially after all that stuff happening in the papers, saying such horrible things about you. Even before you told us what was happening we never believed it for a second.” Why did she mention that?! Why the hell did she mention _that_ of all things?!

“Got to go now, bye!” I rushed to cut off the call, forcing myself to calm down. I was not going to have a panic right now, no way; it was just a small mention of the papers, nothing worse. **Breathe, breathe and phone Lestrade, get a case. Get a case _now._**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for comment/kudos. It's a nice distraction from writing my essay!


	92. Chapter 92

91 Sherlock's POV

“What do you mean there’s no case right now? There has to be a case! Someone has to have a case!” There had to be a case! Lestrade was always working on cases, there had to be _one_ I was needed for! _He’s learnt to carry on without you, he doesn’t need you anymore._ No, that could not be happening, I couldn’t, I needed, I needed cases! Me and John, we needed cases, we didn’t work without them, literally didn’t work. John needed entertainment too, he needed danger, I needed to give him danger!

“I’m sorry Sherlock; I don’t have anything for you right now. London’s criminal underground is being quite boring right now. Us lowly mortals are doing pretty well on solving things by ourselves; you can take more time off, get your head back in order.” Lestrade knew didn’t he? He _knew_ what I’d done. _Of course he knows idiot! Like John didn’t tell him what you did._

“I need a case to get my head back in order! I need it! Give me something, anything, please!” I panicked, I needed something right now! I couldn’t function like this; I needed a case right now! I needed normality; I needed to prove I could function, that things could be normal. John needed to be given normal, not some violent moronic _freak._

“I’m sorry Sherlock, there’s nothing right now. You’d know if there was, I’d give it to you... Look if you want to get out of the flat for bit, you can always came over to mine and we can have a boys night in, just like I offered before. John can come and everything, whatya say to that?” Lestrade offered, no! I didn’t want some boy’s night in! That involved talking, unpredictable conversations! I wanted a _case!_ A nice case, one that had a medium amount of difficulty, something that would let me think, but not feel like I was in danger so I attacked! If I could have just had that, I’d be fine, we’d all be fine!

“No, I want, I want a case. It’s been, it’s been too long!” I wasn’t above begging, I was desperate!

“I know kid, I know. But I will honestly phone you if there is something that you should be looking at. You’re just going to have to wait a bit longer.” Lestrade answered, _he’s tired of talking to you. Nobody wants to hear you whine over cases._

“Please, please Lestrade, give me something. I need a distraction, I’ll be good, I promise. Just give me something.” I needed to do something, anything, anything at all. Just to stop thinking. Stop thinking about attacking the doctor, about the Christmas coming with Mummy and Daddy - which was going to end in disaster. I needed something to calm me down, and that was a case. _Unless it freaks you out and you end up attacking someone again. Imagine attacking Lestrade, that’ll end well._

“I know you’ll be good kid, you always are. But I really mean it; there isn’t _anything_ I can give you right now. None of the other departments have anything either. Just sit tight for a bit, something will come up soon. But now I’ve got to go, I’ll see you around sometime.” Lestrade hung up. NO! There had to be a case, there had to be something! I needed normal, why were there no normal things happening?! I needed normal, I needed distractions, I needed to stop thinking!

I started to panic, feeling my chest constrict. This couldn’t be right, could it? This couldn’t... I couldn’t... I wanted to go back to normal, I wanted the cases back. If I had a case, I could go back to being normal. I’d have John in tow this time, we’d be like normal, and then I wouldn’t be thinking about me, or about screwing up. I’d be deducing and chasing after criminals, I wouldn’t attack anyone, I wouldn’t freak out. I’d hide it, hide it all. I’d be good, I’d be so good!

_But you wouldn’t be, would you? You’d freak out the second you saw anything remotely like blood! Think of last time, asphyxiation caused you to actually freeze up and nearly have a panic attack! Just going near **St Bart’s** completely freaked you out! _No I needed it! I needed it! I needed the cases, needed normal! I hadn’t got back to normal yet, I could manage, I was sure I could manage!

“Sherlock, I got the shopping... Are you alright?” John came through the door unexpectedly.

I whirled round to face him, feeling my fists clench and muscles tense in preparation to attack. Wait. No that wasn’t right! This was John, I didn’t attack John, he wouldn’t hurt me! _But he might. He’s got a gun you know. And saw you attack that doctor before, and knows about what happened with Molly._ NO HE WOULDN’T! He was John, John didn’t hit me. _What did he do when he first saw that you were alive then?! What was that?!_

My muscles tensed further, hands clenching hard.

“Sherlock, it’s okay. It’s me, John... Do you know where you are right now?” John held his hands up, slowly edging closer.

“B-Baker. Baker Street. You’re J-John.” He was John, he was _John._

“Yes, that’s right. It’s just me, just me and you in Baker Street. You’re safe, okay? You’re perfectly safe.” John promised, but I couldn’t... He had a _gun_ upstairs. I wasn’t safe, I wasn’t safe. _You’re never safe; you’ll never be safe again!_

John edged closer still, hand slowly reaching out for my arm. _You’ll hurt him. He’s going to touch him and you’ll hurt him. Then he will never trust you again._

“No! Don’t touch me! Don’t!” I jumped out of the way, running into my room and slamming the door. I couldn’t hurt John, I couldn’t hurt John!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to say now that I'm really so sorry if anybody is finding that this is dragging. I've written four fics like this in another fandom that were of the same kind of length and everybody who read loved it, so I figured it would be the same here. Sorry if you do find this to be stagnating or anything of the sort, I've had this plan in my head for months and I didn't want to rush anything because I wanted this to feel real, and I wanted to really stretch Sherlock's strength. Again, I apologise if anybody has gotten bored/felt like I'm repeating myself, it wasn't my intention, I was just doing what felt right to me, and what I found worked into another fandom.


	93. Chapter 93

92 John's POV

After Sherlock jumped into his room, I didn’t hear a peep out of him for the rest of the day. Believe me, I tried to get him to open up, or at least tell me that he was okay. But I got nothing. Just silence. And it was the most frustrating thing I’d ever encountered. Hell, body parts all over the house were easier to deal with than this!

Of course I had an idea as to _why_ Sherlock was acting like this, but it wasn’t like I had any clues on how to help him! I hadn’t gone through a violent phase when I’d come home from Afghanistan, hadn’t really seen many who had either. What did you do when someone was developing a violent reaction to stress? Keep them away from stress? Like that was going to work, Sherlock seemed able to stress himself out without much interference from me, or anyone else for that matter!

But what had set him off this time? Could it have been a phone call to his parents? By why would _that_ cause him to do all this? I was guessing he wasn’t close to them, judging by the fact that I only recently found out that they were still alive, hell, that they even existed at all. Sometimes it was so hard to see Sherlock as anything other than the enigmatic genius he usually was. I couldn’t imagine him as a child, or a teenager, or anything less than who he was when we first met.

Even now, when he was so different, so weak, so _vulnerable,_ I felt like I could see little bits of the old him in there. Somewhere inside, there was that infuriating man. I just needed to bring him back out again. Which meant I needed to research more into this personality development and how to help calm it down.

Carefully as I could, I left my room to go downstairs and get my laptop. I didn’t think I’d heard Sherlock leave his room in over eight hours, and it was gone two in the morning, so I figured that he may have possibly fallen asleep. I hoped he had anyway; I would have hated to know that he was still wide awake. Sleep deprivation wasn’t going to do him any good whatsoever at the moment.

I was in luck; Sherlock was nowhere to be seen, so I grabbed my laptop and my phone, in case I needed to text Mycroft for anything. He’d sent me a text recently saying that if Sherlock asked for anything, that I could ask Mycroft for it and he’d get it, no questions asked. I figured that the same applied now too. Though when I looked, I discovered that there was already a text waiting for me.

**‘My brother is not fond of therapists or drug therapies. He already has a weighted blanket. He was fond of dogs as a child. MH.’**

Right. How did Mycroft know I was- I was going to stop that sentence right there, this was Mycroft I was talking about, the man knew everything. His text was mildly useful though, instead of annoying. Going against my better judgement as a doctor, I ruled out therapists from my search for helping Sherlock. I could just imagine Sherlock against a therapist, he’d tear them a new one before they even opened their mouths. And that was if I could get him to _see_ a therapist, he was against doctors in general, let along therapists trying to get inside that infuriating head of his. I dreaded to think what he’d do to a therapist, especially after the visit from the doctor... best not go down that route of thought.

Drug therapies I was keeping on the list, as they were the most effective method of helping people with all sorts of issues. Though I would have to be careful, putting him on too many pills could cause a relapse in his sobriety with drug addictions... I’d leave looking into medications last. Weighted blankets apparently helped people with PTSD with nightmares, though Sherlock wasn’t having nightmares. It could help him calm down though...

The one that confused me though was dogs. Therapy dogs? I didn’t know, Sherlock didn’t strike me as an animal person, or someone who would believe in therapy dogs. I knew several people who had been helped greatly by dogs, because they’d given their owners a sense of safety, had grounded them in a situation they found scary. But could that even work for Sherlock? This was _Sherlock,_ he could have forgotten to feed the animal, or experimented on it.

And anyway, how was I supposed to bring any of this up? I couldn’t ignore what was going on around here, but I couldn’t just turn to him and say ‘oh yeah I see you’re freaking out randomly so I thought to look up therapies for you, how about a dog or some more pills?’ Sherlock would _kill_ me for it.

But I couldn’t let this continue, couldn’t let Sherlock carry on so helplessly. He needed help in calming down and stopping this potential violent behaviour before it escalated. How I was going to actually manage to sort him out I didn’t know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the kind words of encouragement! It means everything to me! :D


	94. Chapter 94

93 Sherlock's POV

I’d wanted to hurt John, I’d felt like I wanted to _hurt John._ Not just anybody, but _John._ I thought I was going to hurt John. That wasn't okay, totally not okay, I hadn’t meant to! It wasn't, I didn’t mean, it wasn't me! _Of course it was you! Who else would it possibly be apart from you? **Your** body and **your** brain wanted to hurt precious John. _I didn’t want to do it though! It was a fight or flight reaction, I’d felt scared, cornered, my brain chose fight mode! It wasn't _conscious,_ it wasn't _me._

“Sherlock? Are you okay in there? You can come out any time you want, I’m not mad at you or anything.” John asked through the door again. _This is going to be happening a lot from now on._

“Come on, I need an answer. If you don’t feel like talking, just give the door a knock. Once for yes, twice for no. So, you okay in there?” I gave a knock, hoping it made him go away. I didn’t want to face him right now, not after that.

I hadn’t actually attacked him, but I was sure John knew exactly what had gone through my head then. I didn’t want him to see the aftermath of that, didn’t want him looking at me and just seeing violent rage inside me. That wasn't who I was, who I wanted to be. I’d never been that person; I didn’t even understand why I was that person right now.

“Alright, that’s good to know... Can I come in? I think we need to have another talk.” John sighed, sounding so hesitant as he asked. _Well that’s it; he’s definitely had it now. He’s seen what you do when you get too scared to function; he’s cleaning his hands of you and sending you far away._

“A-About what?” I whispered out, fingers tapping against my thumb.

“About, about these issues you’re having right now. This fear response you’re having. I’ve been doing some research, I know you don’t like me prying in, but I found some things that may be useful for you. I’d like to talk to you about some of this, see if we can come to an agreement on how to sort this out.” John explained... That didn’t sound like anything _too_ bad. _That’s what you think. Just wait and see this all go down the pan._

“W-What exactly are you talking about? Don’t forget the no lies rule.”

John said that we had that rule for a reason, and so we were going to have this rule and _use it_.

“I’m not forgetting the no lies rule at all, what I’m talking about is stuff that keeps you at home. Swearing on the promise. These ideas are hard to explain without the help of the internet, so can I come in with my laptop so I can show you please? Or do you want to come out here and talk? I’m fine either way, I just want to talk.” John answered.

“Give me a second.” I got up from leaning against the door, taking several deep breaths and sitting on the bed. That seemed a good place to be. Looked slightly casual, less like I’d spent another day curled up against the door, having a panic attack.

“Okay. Y-You can come in now.” I whispered, trying desperately to control my shivering. But I couldn’t stop; I was so scared my entire body just would not stop shaking madly. _Facing down torturers in Serbia, no problem. Facing John and you’re shaking like a leaf._ Because they could only hurt and kill me, John could... John could leave, or make me leave. He had so much control over what happened to me, because he was a doctor, and obviously working in league with my brother. Between the two of them, they could do anything they wished to me.

Slowly, the door opened, revealing John and his laptop. He looked incredibly nervous as he did so too. “Hey, mind if I sit down, or should I pull up a chair?”

“You can sit down here, if you want. I’m not...” I trailed off, should I even admit to feeling violent towards John? Or would that make everything so much worse?

“Simple yes or no is okay, you don’t need to explain everything, I understand.” John sat down, leaving two feet of space between us, “Never sat on your bed before. It’s pretty comfy.” He smiled a little. _Deflecting conversation, this can’t be ending well._

“It’s not bad. Egyptian cotton sheets make it better though.” I shrugged, then winced, _way to sound like a pompous bastard._

“I can imagine. It’s soft, I’ll give you that.” John rubbed the sheets between his fingers.

“It’s, it’s nice... Mummy bought them years ago; she always liked the nice blend sheets.” I answered, playing with the sheets too. It was easier to talk about sheets than the latest plan for me. _Though thinking about the fact that she bought you those so you weren’t distracted by the sheets catching on your nails so you could sleep isn’t very nice, is it?_

“I can imagine...” there was an awkward pause, “We should really talk about the research stuff, shouldn’t we?” John sighed.

“Yes, yes I guess we should.” I nodded, bracing myself.

This wasn't going to be a pleasant conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the encouraging comments again! Also the hit count on this has gone over 15000, that's INSANE!


	95. Chapter 95

94 Sherlock's POV

“So, I spent a while researching last night, and found a few ways we could work through this... _phase,_ that mostly don’t involve more medications. You’re on enough as it is, and I don’t want to have you overdosing or anything. That would do more harm than good.” _Meaning getting back into the drug addiction, wouldn’t that be fun? Cocaine sounds **lovely** right now. _“But I looked up some stuff, and there are a few other methods of calming down. A common idea is a weighted blanket, sort of like the one you have now. Apparently it helps with nightmares, if you’re having any, and helps keep you grounded in situations more. I think it’s the weight, reminding you of where you are and such.” John explained, showing me articles on it.

“The weight is like a massage, it makes the body feel comforted, which releases serotonin into the brain, which relaxes the user so they’re more likely to sleep.” I explained without reading the page, I’d been told all of it before, when I was younger, when I got my first blanket. _Just after the diagnosis too, wasn't it?_ Why else would I have had one if it wasn't for Aspergers?

“Ah, so you’ve looked this up before?” John asked, head tilting in interest.

“Was told it years ago. I... I had one as a child, so I could sleep.” _Ohhh, so close to mentioned Aspergers there! If Mycroft hasn’t told him already, he’ll soon find out. Then what do you think he’ll do? Treat you like a baby probably, even more so than now._

“Nice, so you think it could help now? Sleeping more really could help you know.” John continued. He really had no idea, did he? I barely knew what sleep _was_ anymore. _If you fall asleep while he’s around, he’ll find out **everything.** And if you freak out after waking up, you could see him as an attacker, and then what are you going to do? Probably kill him. _

“Maybe. It’s not... it’s not an exact science, it’s not accurate all the time.” I resisted the urge to pick my blanket up. I couldn’t look like I needed it right now; I didn’t want John seeing that I was nervous about this. I was in control, I could be in control, I was still Sherlock Holmes, control was what I did best. _You’re a shadow of Sherlock Holmes right now. You’re barely even an echo of him; you can’t even control your own brain._

“Okay, fair enough. But it’s worth experimenting with, you know? Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it and all that... How about this then?” John showed me the Smithsonian website, with an article about dogs for veterans with PTSD.

“But I’m not a v-” I started.

“Not in the traditional sense, and while I don’t know what actually happened to you, not that I hold that against you, you have suffered trauma. And the therapist you saw just before I came back did give you an informal diagnosis of PTSD. So this counts okay, please just read it.” John pleaded, while using that tone that held no arguments. So I gave in and read.

The websites looked scientific enough, considering it _was_ the Smithsonian, which held so many different scientists doing different bits of research. I’d regularly enjoyed reading through their articles before... well just _before._ I trusted their judgement. The article said that the dogs really helped in boosting confidence, grounding suffers in the moment, and generally helped patients well being. It did sound good...

But we couldn’t have a dog, Mrs Hudson wouldn’t let us have a dog, she had a ‘no animals’ policy. And we couldn’t afford it on only John’s salary, going out every day to walk it would interrupt cases. I wouldn’t be able to take it into crime scenes either. If anything, the poor thing would end up alone in the flat all day long. Who would that benefit?

I explained that to John, but he wasn't having it.

“Sherlock, I’ve already spoken to Mrs Hudson, and she said it was okay if we decided we wanted a dog. She’s okay with anything as long as it makes _you_ feel better, alright? Crime scenes would be an issue, along with cases, but we could work something out, just like we always do. Greg is pretty lenient with us already, I’m sure we could come up with a compromise over this too. If this is the treatment route you want to go down, we can come up with a plan, I promise.” John briefly squeezed my arm.

“I don’t know...” I chewed my lip; _you just don’t want another Redbeard saga. As in getting him, loving him dearly and making him the centre of your world, before he gets ripped away from you in the blink of an eye while you’re away._

“No. I don’t want a dog, I... It doesn’t end well.” _Now it sounds like you experiment on them and kill them!_ “Not as in I hurt them, because I don’t. I just... I meant they... they die. And it hurts.” _So much so your pathetic arse isn’t over it nearly twenty years later._

“Bad experience as a kid?” John guessed, I nodded, “Fair enough. We’ll rule out PTSD dogs too. Though if you ever change your mind, you can you know. I won’t hold it against you.”

“Thanks, but I won’t.” I wouldn’t change my mind; I wasn't going to experience another Redbeard.

“If you’re sure... Though this is all I really had in mind that didn’t involve more medications. I don’t really want you OD’ing on too many medications... Though you are on anti-anxiety already, you know what, I’ll have a look over a few other medications, see what else I can find, alright? See if we can swap the one you’re on for a different one. Would that be preferable?” John started searching the internet again.

“I guess.” I didn’t want to take medications, couldn’t ruin my cognitive function like that. It would ruin me! But if I had to...

No I couldn’t do it! I couldn’t lose brain function, I couldn’t do it! I wouldn’t lose brain function when I was looking into going back to crime scenes, I’d lose everything! No I’d find another way, I would... I’d find something else. A better way, something that didn’t stop my brain working while keeping me calm. There had to be something I could do!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments/kudos, and for moving the view count up by 200 in two days, I've never seen view counts grow that quickly! I am amazed!


	96. Chapter 96

95 Mycroft’s POV

Doctor Watson soon found a new anti-anxiety medication for my brother to take and soon turned into a mother hen over him. He was really stepping up his game with his caretaking duties, making up for any doubts I had about him looking after my little brother. Every single day, without fail, John made sure Sherlock took his medications, had things to do throughout the day, three square meals a day, and slept for some portion of the day too.

Of course, he didn’t have a clue that Sherlock was being his usual difficult self about the new routine. I couldn’t be sure about whether he was taking the pills, because he was taking them in blind spots around the flat. Though John seemed to think he was taking them as he checked his mouth and hands for evidence of hidden pills, so I gave that the benefit of doubt. Sherlock ate too, I saw him do it. But he was definitely not sleeping, or doing any of the activities John set out for him to do. For days on end, I watched Sherlock pretend to take his sleeping medications and head to bed. But he never actually managed to sleep, he usually sat himself on the windowsill, looking out over London, or quietly reading a book. Anything to get out of sleeping.

It was making him listless during the day, barely keeping his eyes open while John and Mrs Hudson occupied the flat. He still managed to calculate his alone time very well though. Every time he worked out he would be alone, he curled himself up on the sofa under his weighted blanket and had a small nap. On average it meant he was sleeping for about three hours every two or so days. It was never enough though, never enough to keep him going. Sherlock refused to sleep in company, even if that company was downstairs and half deaf. Was he really so scared to have his nightmares heard? He must have been, but _why?_ John had many experiences in nightmares, and PTSD in general, even if his therapist had been wrong, why hide them from the doctor?

Oh, in fear of not being seen as indestructible anymore. Sherlock had always liked being seen as fearless and unable to be harmed, strong in the face of everything, never in need of any type of help. Letting his friend see him in a panicked state would have shattered the last of his independence, there was no way my brother was ever going to let that happen. Not if he could ever help it.

Still, my poor brother needed sleep, needed to rest for more than his carefully gathered scraps. Maybe he could come over to my house to sleep a few nights a week? He could sleep in the room I’d kept for him especially. It was on the other side of the house to give him some privacy, with no chance of him waking anybody up. I’d leave someone close by though, someone he trusted, in case he woke up and was in need of comfort... or calming if he was too hysterical.

I waited for John to leave for his usual morning shift at the surgery before phoning Sherlock’s mobile, making him jump with a small scream at the sound. That wasn't a good sign of his nerves... he did rush to grab it though, which was a good sign.

“What do you want?” Even better sign, Sherlock was only ever nice to me when he wanted something, or when he was trying to hide.

“To give you an olive branch brother dear. You haven’t been sleeping well as of late.” I tried to sound slightly friendly and open to talk, wincing slightly when I realised it sounded like I was still being smug. I really wasn’t trying to be this time.

“Like you care.” Sherlock grumbled, spare arm wrapping around his skinny torso. He hadn’t seemed to have put on anymore weight, lack of sleep and stress would do that to him...

“Oh but I do, you’ve been sleeping on average for five hours a week, it’s not exactly making your emotional state any better is it? Though it may help if you took the medications John is so dutifully giving to you.” I sighed, watching my brother wince. He looked so small, curled up on the sofa under his blanket, hair far too long and messy to even be considered just ‘in need of a cut.’ Was he avoiding hairdressers now too?

“I can manage on less. I usually do while on cases.” Sherlock defended himself, fingers starting to tap over his elbow.

“But you’re not on a case right now, are you? You haven’t left the flat all week, and you only left then because John dragged you out for Chinese food.” Which he’d only really picked at.

“Stop spying on me! I’m not some TV show, or some puppet you can entertain yourself with!” Sherlock growled, starting to stand, to go where I didn’t know.

“Just keeping an eye on you, to make sure you’re okay. Mummy and Daddy do like knowing how you’re doing you know.” They would not stop calling about Christmas, asking me so many questions about their ‘little boy and his needs.’ They may have been more towards the average end of the intelligence spectrum, but they knew Sherlock well. Christmas was going to be a _nightmare_ if we didn’t get him under control in the next few months.

“Whatever. What do you want anyway? You don’t usually call without a reason.” Sherlock wasn't having it, sometimes I wished he actually cared for conversation, I couldn’t stand idle chat usually, but I did sometimes miss hearing Sherlock talk. He’d been such a loud child once he’d learnt to speak, always shouting and laughing with Redbeard, I missed his obsessed pirate chatter, his never ending stream of words as he followed me round the house. Now we barely spoke, unless it was for business reasons.

“Like I said earlier, I’m offering you an olive branch, to get your sleeping pattern under control. Well, more into your normal realms at least. You’re currently scared to wake anybody up with nightmares, but I have an entire wing of my house going unused, you can always come over and sleep here. There’s no chance of waking anybody up over here, or hurting anybody either in the midst of a panic attack. It’s safe to come over at any time you want. You’ve got a key for a reason, even if you didn’t; you know how to break into almost anywhere.” I hoped this wouldn’t get chucked back in my face. I was only trying to help, improve Sherlock’s health in _some_ way before he collapsed, or did something he would seriously regret.

“Are you seriously offering me to sleep over at yours?” And there was the snort of contempt I would have expected from three years ago, “Do you really think I’m stupid enough to agree to that? I’m not that thick, I know a damn trap when I see one!” Sherlock hissed.

“Trap? There is no trap.” Oh God, please do _not_ tell me this was paranoia showing up. The last thing we needed was Sherlock _paranoid_ on top of his already fragile psyche.

“Of course there’s a trap! _Oh just come over to mine to sleep,_ like you won’t take advantage of me having my guard down and have me sent off to some nut house! I’m not stupid! I know what you’re planning and it’s not going to work! I’m fine Mycroft, I’m _fine!_ I don’t need you butting your fat head in and taking over! I can handle myself, and I can certainly handle my own damn sleep cycle!” Sherlock stood, whole body tightening in tension. _Shit._ This had _not_ been the plan!

“No, no Sherlock, I’m serious! There is no hidden motive in this; I am genuinely offering a place for you to rest.” I pleaded.

“You’re lying! Don’t lie to me, and don’t twist words round to make it sound like you’re not! ‘A place to rest’ sounds like a damn death sentence!” Sherlock hissed, body vibrating.

“Sherlock listen to me-” I got cut off

“NO! I won’t listen to you, you only lie to me! Stop lying and don’t insult my intelligence by contacting me again. Leave me alone.” Sherlock cut the call off and slammed the phone down... This hadn’t been how I wanted this to end!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for all the comments/kudos!  
> Also I think I should mention that I've decided that I'm not going down the Johnlock route with this fic. After toying with the idea for a long while I don't think it's right for this fic in particular to put them together as a couple. Maybe for my next fic, I don't know yet, I'm still in planning stages for that! xD For this story though, I'm going to keep them as friends only, though maybe with a bit of platonic hand holding/hugging later on! Sorry to disappoint anybody who was hoping for them to be a couple at the end!


	97. Chapter 97

96 Sherlock's POV                                         

Who did Mycroft think he was?! Did he really think he could trick me into going over to his under the pretence of _sleeping?_ I wasn't bloody stupid; I knew what he was thinking about doing! He was watching me, he was cataloguing everything I did, and he was going to use it against me.

_Mycroft is looking at getting you sectioned. It’s obvious. He’s probably got all of his evidence ready too, and now is just waiting for you to go round to his house, or go somewhere easy to grab you. You’ll never be seen on the streets of London ever again if that happens._

Exactly, I wasn't stupid; he was going to do that. He was going to make me go away. I wasn't going away, I was never going away. I was staying at Baker Street, because I was fine, I really was fine. Sure I wasn't sleeping much, but what was the difference there? I never slept while on cases, had gone _days_ without sleep in Serbia. I could manage on five hours of sleep a week, easy. Wasn't like I needed it.

And I was getting the violence under control; I hadn’t had a violent urge all week, not once. _Until now._ Until now, but that was Mycroft’s fault, he put me on high alert. It wasn't me, wasn't my brain.

_He’s still watching you though. Through his cameras. We should get rid of them._ Yes, yes, get rid of the cameras. Couldn’t spy on me in the flat if there weren’t any cameras.

So my search started, I found so many around the house, hidden in the usual places (ceiling corners and book cases. Moriarty put cameras on book cases. We had gotten rid of them.) And the unusual places too (under the sofa, in cupboards, in my damn wardrobe and under my bed.) I got rid of all of them too. Gave them a nice bath in the toilet after crushing them under my shoe. No way would they work now, no way at all.

“Sherlock? Sherlock what are you doing?” John broke me from muttering to myself as I grabbed the last one off the right hand front corner of the front room.

“Getting rid of Mycroft’s cameras. He’s spying on us again, insufferable bastard that he is. Now he can’t spy on us, because I’ve gotten rid of them, crushed and flushed them down the toilet. How do you like that now huh _brother dear?_ ” I hissed into the device, grinning into it. _Good boy. You won this round._ Of course I did, I saw through my stupid brothers little trick for me; he wasn't going to get me today!

“Right... And why have we all of a sudden decided to rid the house of them, I thought there was a deal between the two of you over keeping them in?” John asked, carefully hanging up his coat.

“Deal’s off when he uses them to spy on me and try to trick me into things.” I answered, stamping on the last camera before picking it up and flushing it.

“Okay... Sherlock do you want to sit down? You look... You look a bit manic right now; I think you need to sit down a minute.” John guided me to the sofa.

“I’m fine John. Don’t look so worried, I was just sweeping the flat for bugs, I thought you hated Mycroft’s snooping, just like I did?” He usually hated it... _What if he’s in league with him now?_ No, no way. John was my friend, he wouldn’t do that! _But you’re not friends. You’re doctor and patient now._

“I do... I just, are you sure you’re alright? You weren’t that bothered with them this morning.” John sighed, not making eye contact.

“That was before Mycroft phoned and insulted my intelligence. I don’t want him watching so closely anymore, the nosey pratt isn’t welcome to stick his nose in!” _Don’t mention the reason for the phone call. John could agree._ No John agreed with me! He didn’t like Mycroft meddling either, he agreed with me!

“He may just be trying to keep an eye on you. He does worry about you, we all do.” John answered. _They’re talking about you behind your back. Conspiring._

“There’s no need! I’m fine! I really am fine! There’s no need for all this worry!” There wasn't any need for it! I could handle myself!

“If you say so... Sherlock, did you take your meds this morning?” John asked, what kind of question was that?! _He suspects something._

“Of course I did, you saw me take them! Why would you even ask something like that?” I jumped up, _act natural. Act natural now!_

“It’s just that, you’ve got... you’re a lot more lively than usual. I was just wondering if you’d taken them.” John put his hands up, feigning innocence.

“That’s a sign they’re working then, isn’t it? That I’ve got life in me again!” Surely that was a good thing!

“It is. It is a good thing, but would it be okay if I monitor it a bit? Just to make sure that we’ve got the right pill combination? Neither of us would enjoy an overdose... or for these pills to screw up your brain, would we?” John laughed nervously. _Something is going on, act natural!_ I was damn it!

“O-Of course you can, no problem! For now though I want... I need to finish checking the flat for bugs.” I could have missed some, and it was a good excuse to get out of this conversation.

“Alright, if you want. And thanks, for agreeing to letting me keep an eye on you... I’m going to make a phone call, I’ll just be upstairs.” John left the room, I barely noticed, busy checking behind every object in the downstairs flat in search for any more bugs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments and the kudos! This chapter is slightly shorter than normal, sorry about that!


	98. Chapter 98

97 John's POV

Sherlock was acting... _weird._ To say the least he was acting weird, if I was being honest, he was acting downright paranoid and manic. And that could not be a good sign.

It wasn't the new medications though, I made sure to give him medications which could calm him down, not make his anxiety worse. Then again, this wasn't anxiety. I thought it could be paranoia, but why start being paranoid now? It apparently had to do with Mycroft, so I figured it was best to phone him, see if he had any ideas... while trying not to getting torn a new one for not protecting his precious little brother. I was bloody well trying, but it was difficult to do! Sherlock was throwing curveballs; I wasn't exactly the best person around to dodge them!

I headed upstairs, taking a deep breath in and bit the bullet, phoning Mycroft.

“Come to tell me about my brother destroying all surveillance in the flat?” Mycroft picked up after a single ring.

“Yeah, any idea on why he’s suddenly decided that being watched by you is a bad thing?” I sighed, wishing this to be an easy conversation. With simple answers and simple questions, and a very nice simple solution that made my flatmate calm down a bit.

“I may have been... let’s say _less than courteous_ in a phone call with Sherlock, he hasn’t taken it well it seems.” Mycroft explained, no chance of simple answers then.

“Any details to go with that? Or any ideas on how to calm him down before he hurts himself, or ends up destroying the place further?” I questioned, slightly thankful that Mycroft had eased up a little on me as of late. He’d been helpful a few times recently, what with getting me new medications for Sherlock and giving me ideas on ways to treat him. It had given me slightly less reason to fear him, though the guy was still terrifying when pushed the wrong way.

“Not currently no. Usually we let Sherlock ride out his manic moods. Paranoia though, that is rather new.” Mycroft mused, which was so not helping!

“As in so new it’s just arrived this morning. So what’s the plan, what are we going to do about it?” I’d not experienced paranoia before, hadn’t really seen others with it either. This was a new one for me, and I wasn't some miracle worker.

“Either distract him with a case to reroute his thoughts, or let him ride it out. Once he’s happy that he’s not being watched inside the flat he _should_ calm down, I can’t promise on that, but he should calm down. With any hope he’ll wear himself out and fall asleep, if not, just distract him. And if he gets worse from there on, phone me and I’ll sort him out.” Mycroft advised, like that hadn’t been my plan already!

“Alright, I’ll see what happens. I’ll phone Lestrade too, see if there’s a case on, and to warn him to this new behaviour change.” I sighed, giving up on hoping for a better solution.

I hated this right now, Sherlock was throwing curveballs at me from all angles and I was really trying to catch them, but it was so difficult to do. Trying to anticipate Sherlock’s next symptom was _hard,_ he was being unpredictable. For days he could sit in his chair and look forlorn and lost, barely making a sound unless asked to, the next he could be attacking doctors and then looking like he was going to hurt me, before locking himself away in his room. Now he was manic, almost hyper, and paranoid, running round to the flat to get rid of Mycroft’s cameras. What was he going to come up with next? I dreaded to think.

With another sigh, I phoned Lestrade and told him, praying that there was a case on that we could get Sherlock to look at. Just to distract him a little, give him a new path to follow. Move the thoughts from Mycroft's cameras to cases, wear his body down enough for him to sleep or at least rest a bit.

“Shit, alright I’ll go round and find something. Though are you sure a case won’t hype him up even more? Or make the paranoia about his brother even worse?” Lestrade swore.

“How’d you mean?” I asked, unsure what he was getting at.

“I mean, he’s having a freak out over Mycroft watching him with his cameras right? Won’t taking him outside in _London,_ which is _filled_ with cameras, and have been used by Mycroft before to watch over Sherlock, make him more paranoid about being watched? Even Scotland Yard is covered in cameras, surely that will make things worse?” Lestrade did have a point there...

“Maybe, but isn’t it worth a small shot? Didn’t you say that giving him cases kept him from tearing his hair out during his drug withdrawal?” I was sure I’d heard Lestrade say that before at some point.

“Yeah... and he was pretty paranoid then I guess too, effects of withdrawal and all that. Okay, I’ll go find a case from someone, though I think you should get him to calm down a little, or he’s going to be impossible.” Lestrade advised, I promised to see what I could do before hanging up, hesitating before going back downstairs.

What I found wasn't that bad actually; Sherlock had apparently giving up his search for cameras, now setting about fiddling with his phone... Oh no, he was actually taking it apart.

“I hope you’re remembering where you got each of those pieces from so you can put it back together.” I commented, setting about making tea, thinking it was a good move to make. It was natural, normal, not at all out of the ordinary things I did. Wouldn’t make Sherlock suspicious this way... was I _really_ deceiving my detective flatmate now? Wow, didn’t realise that this would be necessary, especially after the no lies rule.

“I know where each bit goes, I always know. I’ve taken apart phones many times.” Sherlock told me, he almost sounded like himself again, if only it hadn’t been for that small shaky, nervous tone to it.

“Good... Any reason why you’re taking apart your phone now?” _please don’t say checking for bugs, please say it’s out of boredom._

“Checking for more bugs. It’s the last place I can think of that could possibly be bugged. Must be checked again, because Mycroft gave me this phone, he could have been overhearing all our conversations.” _Well shit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments/kudos again!  
> Just a reminder that my twitter is @corruptedpov and my tumblr is effulgentcorruptedpov if you ever want to message me with comments/thoughts about this fic if you don't have an account on here!


	99. Chapter 99

98 Sherlock's POV

_Get rid of any trace of bugs from Mycroft; get rid of **all** of them so he can’t hear us anymore. So he can’t record the things you say and use them against you when you get sent away. _Mycroft wasn't going to do this to me, not again, I wouldn’t let him trick me into a ‘rehab centre’ I’d conveniently never leave again, he wouldn’t get any evidence against me either, I wouldn’t let him get anything. I was my own person, my big brother wasn't allowed to control me anymore, I was an _adult,_ and a fucking lethal one at that. _You didn’t want to be lethal though, did you?_ I had to do what I had to. _But you feel **so** much guilt over it, don’t you? _Yes, but we weren’t getting into this right now, not when Mycroft could have still been listening!

I found a tracker in my phone, as well as a bug to listen into my conversations and texts. Did he really think I was _that_ stupid? I’d used these a load of times already, during cases and during my time away, I knew how to install these almost as well as I knew how to use the phone itself. These had to go, right now. So down the toilet they went too, before I put my phone back together again in record time.

“Barely looks like you took that phone apart.” John commented as I slipped the device into my pocket for safe keeping.

“I’ve done it before a few times. It’s not exactly rocket science.” I shrugged it off, because it was easy once you knew how to do it.

“Still quite clever... How many times have you taken apart phones like that?” John asked, leaning against his chair instead of sitting in it.

“Many times. I learnt to do it years ago; you never know when it’ll be useful on a case... Do you know if there’s any for us to investigate yet?” I wanted another case, wanted to prove to Mycroft that I was a _fully functioning human being._ Sleep was barely a problem, I’d worked out a system, it was working, I could manage on five hours a week easily. I’d survived less in Ser- _Better not going down that path._ Best not.

“None that I know of. But I’ll text Lestrade, see if he has anything again.” John sent off a quick text, “For now though, fancy going out for some Chinese food? I’m starving.”

“Er...” I didn’t know, what if Mycroft was watching from the security cameras? _Then prove that you’re functioning fine by acting like a normal person who takes his medications, just like you do with John._ I hadn’t screwed up that badly before in public... I could manage it now too, I guessed, “Alright. I’ll pay too.” Because that was something nice people did, and I was a nice person now. John had smiled three times more in my presence in this last week, and had relaxed by ten percent too, because he thought I was improving on my medications and because I was nicer to him. I wasn't going to give him reason to doubt that.

“Really? Alright then, we’re definitely going out then.” John took us down to the nearest Chinese restaurant. It was a route filled with cameras; I could feel them watching me the entire walk, tracking my movements, checking for even a hint of something being wrong with me. Well I wasn't giving my dear brother a look in, all he was going to see from now on was the put together person I was. He wasn't going to see anything but what I wanted him to see, otherwise known as the person he wanted me to be. Sane, normal, not the black sheep of the family. _Too late for that one._ Well I could bloody well _act_ like it and avoid whatever asylum he had lined up for me!

Dinner went without incident, just like I’d hoped. Me and John ate, talked a bit about ordinary things; I lied about how the medications were working for me pretty well. John looked slightly suspicious at me for that, but I assured him it was true, that me searching the house for bugs was not out of the ordinary. I told him most of the truth there, that Mycroft had pissed me off and tried interfering, and I didn’t like it, so I decided to take away his cameras so he couldn’t watch me like a hawk anymore. Nothing wrong with that, now was there?

_Of course there isn’t. Just that it could be seen that you’re paranoid, going completely crazy._ Well I wasn't going crazy at all, a small amount of paranoia never hurt anybody, if anything it kept nosy brothers _out,_ which was the entire point. I was a normal human being, I wasn't crazy, I wasn't going to be dangerous anymore, I was just going to be Sherlock Holmes the consulting detective. I’d work cases for the yard and private clients, eat whenever possible, sleep for five hours a week, or longer if I could manage, _not_ have panic attacks in the shower, and never have a breakdown. There was no need for a breakdown; I was fine, absolutely fine. _Just a dangerous psychopath, that’s what Mycroft was watching for, signs of psychopathic behaviour. He was waiting for you to attack another person._ Wasn't happening, I had the control, I had the control, I always had the control.

“Hey you’re up early; you’re usually asleep until at least eight in the morning.” John made me jump... when did it become day time?! I’d been thinking on the way home, when did it get to daylight the next morning?!

“Couldn’t sleep, was thinking.” _You’re supposed to be taking sleeping pills to knock you out at night!_

“Ah, that’s because you didn’t take the sleeping pills. You looked so out of it with exhaustion by the time we got home I figured you’d fall right asleep as soon as you hit the bed. Sorry about that, but if you’re up for it; Lestrade may have a case for us.” A case? There was a case? _That is what he said moron._

“I’m up for it!” Always up for a case, will definitely be up for a case for the rest of my life. _Keep John happy; keep him on cases, filled with adrenaline._ Yes, yes, adrenaline fixes, cases and chases, deductions and minds kept busy. Good things, such good things.

“Great, I’ve got the address, we’ll go as soon as we’ve both showered and dressed, yeah?” John smiled, the two of us racing to get ready in record timing before running to the crime scene.

The game was back on!                                                    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments/kudos!   
> Just a quick AN too, there may not be an update next Wednesday because I'm back in uni for the compulsory part of my summer school. My class have to write and produce an online magazine in three days, so I'm going to be in from 9-5/6ish every day. This wouldn't be a problem if I lived on campus, but because I live two hours away I'm going to be getting up at 6 to get there and won't be home until 7, at which point I'll need to write/edit my piece for the magazine, eat and do whatever else I need to do before I go to bed so I have enough sleep to remain awake the next day. I'll try my best, but I may end up accidentally skipping next Wednesday's update, if that happens, I'll try again on Thursday. Sorry about that!


	100. Chapter 100

99 Sherlock's POV

The case seemed like an interesting one, a body had been found with no wounds of any description, puncture marks, or even a break in the skin, but had had a heart attack. In itself, that had been straightforward, but the fact that the victim had only been eighteen years old had been the interesting factor in the case, hence Lestrade calling us in. I could almost feel my heart sing at the idea of a case again. Just me and John, crime scenes, deductions and chases for criminals through the London streets, _my mind focusing on something,_ oh it sounded like Christmas!

_This’ll only work if you don’t have another flashback like last time; Lestrade won’t let you go chasing after criminals if you’re ‘ill.’_ There wasn't any blood or anything; I wasn't going to have another flashback. _You could though; anything will set you off nowadays. What if you have a **really** bad flashback this time? What if you attack someone at a crime scene? You’ll get arrest for that, that’s for sure, and then they’ll find out **everything.**_ Wasn't listening, I was not listening at all right now. I was fine, this was all fine. I’d been to hundreds of crime scenes, this one was no different.

We made it to the crime scene, John none the wiser to the anxiety starting to twist my stomach as I paid the cabbie the fare, earning a smile in thanks. The smile helped, my God did that smile help. I was doing well in at least one area right now, I could do well in all the others if I concentrated, I just needed to concentrate a little more and I’d get through this, possibly have some fun. _And_ prove Mycroft wrong in the idea that I wasn't okay, because I was okay. I was going to a crime scene, and I was going to do my job just as well as I had always done, give John his needed adrenaline high _and_ give my mind something else to think about other than doing something wrong.

“Ah the freak’s back, and he’s brought his pet back. Is he still paying you for company? You’ve got to be rich enough to buy your own place by now.” Donovan hissed as we ducked the tape. _See what they think of you still? They think you’re paying John to stay, they’re sort of right there, you’re paying him in adrenaline rushes. Haven’t had many of those in a while._

“Haven’t you got anything better to do than to antagonise people Donovan?” John sighed, I didn’t say a word. I had a great many of come backs stored for Donovan and Anderson, but I couldn’t say it anymore, it would start another fight. If I did that it would upset everyone and I’d possibly let something slip, it wouldn’t... it wouldn’t end well. _Just be a good little boy and solve the case. It’s all you’re needed for._

“Only making conversation John, catching up with our resident psychopath, he’s been away for _so long,_ we thought he’d had a breakdown. Looks like he’s gone a bit wild either way.” Donovan gave me a once over, eyes stopping at my hair. _Damn it why didn’t you cut it?! It’s reaching your shoulders now, you look ridiculous!_

“We’ve already proven Sherlock innocent of all of that, now where’s Lestrade? He called us in because he _needs_ us.” John glared at her; I couldn’t even look at either of them. _You do know they’re talking about Reichenbach, right? Donovan and Anderson were the ones who put it together that you’re a psychopath, if only they knew what you have done during your time away._ Go away! I had to concentrate.

Donovan opened her mouth to say something, but John cut across her to push me towards the alley containing Lestrade and the body.

“Hey kid, long time no see.” Lestrade smiled and stood. Every single tech turned to stare at us, what was so wrong with seeing the two of us together?! This was a _normal_ thing for us, why was everybody staring?! _Maybe they’re Mycroft’s men, watching you for him, catching signs of breakdowns._ My skin started itching at the thought. **Breathe, calm down. Can’t show weakness right now.**

“Yeah, we’ve been a bit busy as of late, getting things sorted.” John replied, a few murmurs went through the crew.

“Therapy, he’s been in therapy... D’ya think he’d been sectioned, that explains his disappearance? Maybe he went on a drug bender...”

Did I look like I’d been on a drug bender?! _Well you do look like a mess. At least your clothes are ironed this time, and you’ve showered._

“Quiet you lot! Anyway, I brought you here because I’m a bit stumped. Did John give you the full details?” Lestrade glared at his team before leading us over to the body.

“Yeah, he told me.” I answered, I’d been given a full run through of what Lestrade had told John on the ride over, I had a good idea of what was going on.

“You’re sure it was a heart attack, victim wasn't diabetic or anything, was she?” John asked, looking over the body as I did.

**Eighteen year old girl. Healthy in all aspects apart from being dead. Recently ate cereal for breakfast, healthy kind too. Went to the gym a couple times a week. No signs of a fight or wounds on the body.**

“No, not that we know of. There wasn't any insulin in her bag or anything, so we have no idea what caused her to drop dead of a heart attack.” Lestrade shrugged, “Got any ideas?”

“Couple, mind if I take off her shoe?” If the victim had had an air bubble injected into her bloodstream, that could have caused a heart attack.

“Sure, no need to ask you know. Do what needs doing to get the answers; we’ve photographed the victim and all the rest of it.” Lestrade nodded, sending John a look, which he returned.

_That’s code for something. They’ve got a code for you._ Shut up, I was not listening to this while I was in my happy place. _You’re a psychopath if this is your happy place. Killing all those people during your time away changed you, didn’t it?_ I winced at the thought, pushing through to take off the victim’s shoe and sock, looking between her toes. **Breathe, continue to breathe. Just a bit longer, find the cause of death and you can get back in a cab and leave.** _To go to Scotland Yard for more research. Scotland Yard, filled with yet more detectives who hate you and judge your every movement._

“Isn’t between the toes a good drug injection site?” Someone asked, if that was in reference to me I would... _would what? Attack them? That’ll work wonders for you right now._

“What are you thinking?” John bent down next to me, “Ah, air bubble. Injection sites are hidden in the armpits or between the toes in an attempt to hide them, clever.” He concluded. _You’re not clever anymore; John figured it out before you said anything._

“Just a theory, not proven yet... Until I saw that.” I showed John the injection site between the fourth and fifth toes.

“You think she was a drug addict or something?” Lestrade asked, bending to our level too.

“No... possibly. But it could also be an injected air bubble; it travels through the blood stream and causes heart attacks. Hearts aren’t very fond of air bubbles.” I explained, looking to John for confirmation, he nodded in agreement for me.

“Yeah it’s a little known murder method, but a very effective one.” John agreed.

“You’re looking for someone with at least some medical knowledge, it’s hard to hit veins in the toes unless you’ve had practice, or have medical knowledge... Have you started looking into her background yet?” I asked, not demanded. _Never demand again, and these aren’t your best deductions are they? John could have come up with them._

“Not yet, I’ll call for it now. Fancy helping out a bit, speed up the whole process a bit?” Lestrade offered, I’d have loved to, but... did John want to? If he didn’t want to go... But why wouldn’t he want to go? Finding the suspects lead to following leads, leads followed into chases, chases meant adrenaline rushes. I had to ask though, just in case. _Lack of confidence is really going to show Mycroft you’re okay, isn’t it?_ It showed him that I was being _considerate_ to those around me, it was better than treating them like shit!

“Yeah alright, more the merrier, up for it too Sherlock?” John turned to me, I nodded. But it didn’t stop my skin crawling and my stomach twisting, why did the idea of going with John to Scotland Yard scare me so much? It shouldn’t... Nothing was going to happen there, nothing should have happened there. It couldn’t. I was... I’d be safe there. _Not from Mycroft’s cameras, or from the prying eyes of the best detectives in London._ Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just found out that I may finish summer school at 3 each day instead of 5, so there is a chance I could still update on Wednesday, watch this space!


	101. Chapter 101

100 Sherlock's POV                                                             

The drive to Scotland Yard did nothing for my anxiety, if anything made it worse. I _really_ didn’t fancy being around all those detectives again, not after my last two times there, but what choice did I have? I couldn’t exactly say no and stop John from going on a hunt for a killer, he was with me for the adrenaline rush, and I’d given him nothing so far. _Well you’ve given him a reason to fear you, after your run in with that doctor._

It wasn't the right type of adrenaline though! He wasn't supposed to be scared of me; I didn’t want anybody to be scared of me. I was supposed to be the indestructible detective, not a violent psychopath, I couldn’t make him think I was anything but Sherlock Holmes, completely indestructible and in control of himself. Couldn’t prove Mycroft right either, had to be normal, had to be sane and normal, nothing less than competent and in control. _You’re screwed; you’re never going to manage it._ I could, I could manage. Just had to breathe, act natural, focus on the case, keep John happy. Easy, so easy, used to do it all the time.

“Sherlock, are you okay? You’re looking a little stressed.” John asked as Lestrade parked the car.

“Fine, focusing on the case, why wouldn’t I be fine?” _Don’t show weakness, don’t show weakness._ Not going to, not going to. **Breathe, breathe come on. Hydrogen Helium Lithium Beryllium.**

“If it gets too much, we can go home at any time. No lies rule, remember?” John whispered.

“Of course I remember, I’m not stupid.” I snapped, shit why did I do that?! “Sorry, sorry I...” _Don’t say stressed, tired, or suffering from a headache, you’ll be taken straight home and nobody is going to be happy with that outcome._

“It’s, it’s okay. Come on, let’s get ourselves sorted in one of the conference rooms, yeah, or would you rather Lestrade’s office?” John asked, glancing around the car park. _Checking for backup in case you lose it._ SHUT UP. You’re making it worse!

“Lestrade’s office.” I needed quiet, away from prying eyes and cameras. There weren’t any cameras in Lestrade’s office to my knowledge. It would be only the three of us, no more eyes looking in, no over observant brothers watching either.

Eyes followed us the entire way to Lestrade’s office, whispers from every single person in Scotland Yard spreading like a plague, all of them judging the sight of us together again.

“Oh the hair’s a bit much... Where’s he been for so long? That doctor is still by his side, I wouldn’t be if I was him, not after what the freak did. I know, I wouldn’t be touching him with a ten foot pole! He looks ill, think Lestrade’s bringing him in for an arrest or something?” NO, no, no, no that really wasn't happening because I had done nothing wrong. _Apart from attacking a doctor and nearly attacking John,_ so, I didn’t actually hurt anybody! _Not yet you haven’t._ I wouldn’t! And John would have told me if I was coming here for, for _that_ reason, not telling me would be a lie, we had a rule, we had a rule! _Rules mean nothing to psychopaths._

NO JUST STOP IT! JUST SHUT UP! GO AWAY! I didn’t want to hear this; I didn’t want any of this!

“Everyone out of here right now! What did I warn all of you _not_ to do?” Lestrade hissed, _he’s angry. You’ve made him angry now._ That wasn't what I wanted to do!

“Hey, hey Sherlock, it’s okay. Everybody’s going now; they aren’t going to be bothering us anymore.” John whispered gently. _He’s scared, you’ve scared him again! He’s not even touching you in fear of what you’ll do!_

“Come on kid, let’s get you safely into my office, it’s quiet in there.” Lestrade touched my shoulder.

 “Don’t touch me!” I shouted, without even thinking I grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back, slamming the DI against a wall.

“Sherlock!” John tried to pull me off him, but I couldn’t let go. I didn’t want to let go! Lestrade had been angry, then he grabbed my shoulder, he could have wanted to hurt me! I had to stop him from hurting me! _He was going to hurt you so badly, he was going to beat the living shit out of you. And everyone would have watched and laughed._

“Sherlock let go, let go right now! You’re at Scotland Yard, the man you’re holding is Lestrade, he wasn't going to hurt you! Let go of him!” John pulled again, managing to dislodge me from Lestrade, who started heaving in breath and coughing.

“Jesus Sherlock, what the hell was that?!” Lestrade wheezed, doubling over.

Then something snapped back into place inside me as I saw him like that, I’d caused that. I’d just... I’d just attacked Lestrade! I... why did I do that?! I didn’t mean to do that! _Yes you did, you were protecting yourself from a perceived threat, you justified it in your own head._ But I didn’t mean to do it! I didn’t... shit what the hell was I thinking?!

“I... I’m sorry, I didn’t... I wasn't thinking, something... I’m sorry!” I stumbled backwards, reeling at what I just did. _You just attacked Lestrade, you just **attacked** Lestrade. You could be arrested for that! You could go to prison for attacking a police officer! _ Fuck I didn’t mean for that to happen! I reached out to touch him but John pushed my hand away.

“Don’t touch him Sherlock, you’ve done enough already.” He _glared_ at me, whole body tense as he checked Lestrade over.

“I... I, I didn’t mean it, I’m sorry!” I hadn’t meant it! I really hadn’t meant it! I wasn't... I hadn’t been thinking straight! _That’s for sure, and now you’ve attacked someone you actually like. How many more times is this going to happen now? You’re done for now._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just finished my summer school, and I'm now exhausted! I could possibly collapse as at second, but I'm managing! Also, CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED! WOOOO!


	102. Chapter 102

101 John's POV

“I-I’m sorry, I-I’m sorry. I’m so sorry!” Sherlock apologised repeatedly, his voice shaking almost violently. But I couldn’t deal with him right now, I had to sort out Lestrade first, he’d just been full body slammed into a wall, hadn’t been able to breathe. I had to check him over before I could deal with Sherlock’s panic, just in case something was really wrong with Lestrade... but I needed to calm Sherlock down too. _Fuck_ I needed two of me right now!

“It’s, it’s o-” Lestrade coughed, retching cutting himself off.

“Don’t try and talk right now mate, you’ll make it worse.” I ordered, feeling the muscles and bones in his neck, checking for breaks/damage.

“I-I’m sorry, I’m s-sorry!” Sherlock whimpered, the sound of footsteps running away thumping across the floor.

“Sherlock come back! Shit, give me a sec.” I shouted and swore when I was ignored, yanking my phone out of my pocket and dialling Mycroft, “Hey, Sherlock’s going to be running out of Scotland Yard soon, track where he goes, he’s gotten himself into a state.” I explained the situation, phone wedged between my ear and shoulder as I finished up examining Lestrade’s neck, “You’ll live, but you’ll be a bit sore for a few days as you breathe. I’ll check up again every day for a week alright? But I’ve got to go, Sherlock needs me, I’m sorry.” I apologised and chased after my friend, ordering some of the stunned officers in the corridor to stick with Lestrade.

“I’ve got Sherlock in sight; he’s heading towards Baker Street. I’ll send a few people around to make sure he doesn’t hurt anybody further until he’s calmed down.” Mycroft told me, calm as ever. Sometimes I wished he actually sounded _concerned_ when Sherlock did something like this, instead of unfazed like usual.

“Great, Mrs Hudson is out so she’ll be safe... You don’t think he’d hurt her, do you?” The thought dawned on me; Sherlock would never forgive himself for hurting Mrs Hudson, no matter how accidently. _I_ wouldn’t forgive myself for letting it happen, but right now I didn’t know what to do with him. I couldn’t wrap him in bubblewrap, and I certainly couldn’t coddle him into calm.

“I’m afraid that’s a question I can’t answer; Sherlock’s being rather unpredictable as of late. He’s always been a hard one to pin down.” Mycroft sighed.

“I can imagine.” I agreed, “I’m going in, wish me luck.” I hung up as I reached Baker Street, promising myself that I’d phone Mycroft back later for more information, see if this had happened with Sherlock before. Somehow I doubted it, but I still hoped it was an easily fixed stress response from childhood that I’d magically not seen before, not a psychological response brought on by PTSD.

“Sherlock? It’s John, you okay?” _stupid question,_ “Lestrade’s alright you know. Bit bruised, but he’ll be fine in a few days. You didn’t... you didn’t cause too much damage.” I promised, figuring that may fair better for me as I looked round the flat.

Sherlock's bedroom door was closed, like it was so often nowadays. I swore he never usually closed it, always leaving it open for anybody to walk in no matter what he was doing, but now the door was closed whenever Sherlock went inside. _Especially_ when something like this happened, he all but barricaded himself in.

“Sherlock, did you hear me? Lestrade is going to be okay, he’s a bit bruised, but you didn’t hurt him too badly. And he’s not upset with you either, he understands.” I sort of lied, having not checked before I ran off after my friend. But it was a safe bet, considering what Lestrade had been trying to say before I stopped him. Even if it wasn't the case, Sherlock needed the reassurance right now.

The only thing that answered me the sound of sobbing on the side of the door, helpless sobs that echoed around the flat like they were reverberating through speakers.

I sighed at the sound, really not sure on what to do now, did I leave Sherlock to cry, did I wait for him to calm down on the other side of the door? If I waited I could make him feel overcrowded which never ended well, but I felt bad leaving him to cry by himself.

“Sherlock, I’m going to the front room okay? If you need me just call, I’m going to be just down the hall, alright? I’m not going to leave you again.” I promised, wishing there was more I could do to calm him down. I didn’t know what; I was already keeping him on a good cycle of medications, food and sleep, trying to give him the things he enjoyed like crime scenes. But it didn’t seem to be doing much, if anything the crime scenes were _causing_ this, or at least Scotland Yard being insensitive were anyway.

You couldn’t have a crime scene without Scotland Yard officers though, and I doubted just telling them to quit staring and to shut the hell up was going to do much to stop them being rude. I’d heard what they’d said as we’d made our way to Lestrade’s office, the hate and scorn they whispered to each other about Sherlock. I couldn’t imagine it was helping his emotional state in any way, probably leading him to the stress which caused him to snap like he had. I couldn’t stop it though, the officers didn’t care about Sherlock, saw him as their resident pain in the arse and verbal punching bag most of the time.

We could send Mycroft in to scare the living shit out of them I suppose, though I doubted Sherlock would appreciate big brother coming in and sorting out his problems again. Last time he tried that the flat got turned over in a search for cameras, so I didn’t think he’d appreciate Mycroft coming in to bully the people he worked with.

I hated to admit it, but the more this went on, I was starting to think that the best course of action was to get Sherlock checked into a mental health facility. He was spiralling and getting worse, attacking friends now as well as doctors he didn’t trust. As I thought earlier, what would happen to him if he attacked Mrs Hudson? What if he really hurt Mrs Hudson? She was a helpless old lady, she couldn’t fend him off and if I wasn't here to stop him... I dreaded to think.

But at the same time, I _really_ didn’t want to resort to the mental health facility option, knowing how traumatic Sherlock would find it. He didn’t like _regular_ doctors, or hospitals, no matter how short the stay was... a longer duration staying somewhere, surrounded by doctors in an unfamiliar setting? It would be Sherlock’s personal hell. But what else was there to do? I sure as hell didn’t have any ideas...

So I gave up, sighing and phoning Mycroft, hoping he had _some_ plan or an idea on what to do to avoid this outcome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments and the kudos, and today I'm actually awake enough to update! Horray for me!


	103. Chapter 103

102 Sherlock's POV                         

“Alright, okay one more chance... What are your criteria for good behaviour and what are you calling the last failed chance?” John was asking Mycroft in the front room, not exactly being quiet about it either. I could hear him talking about what happened with Lestrade, about how I was on the last of my thin ice before I was carted away somewhere for the good of everyone around me. _Did you really think this conversation wasn't going to happen sooner or later? You’re **attacking** people out of stress; of course John’s talking to brother dear about having you sent somewhere else so someone else can deal with you. _

I knew it was coming, but I wished it wasn't happening, wished that I could have just proven myself to be _normal_ and get out of this. I didn’t want to leave Baker Street, didn’t want to leave my friends and everything I held dear.

_Too late, it’s happening. You’re a danger to those so called friends of yours, probably making them **terrified** of you. They’re going to have you sent away to a secure facility where you can’t hurt them again. You know where they put dangerous people like you? Not psychiatric wards. **Prison.** How long do you think you’ll last in prison, filled with dangerous murderers, half of which you put there? A week, a month? Not long at any case, even with your new ‘skills’ you’re not going to last long. If anything you should just cut to the chase and kill yourself now, go out on your own terms. _

I... I didn’t want to die! I didn’t mean to do the things I did! I hadn’t meant to hurt Lestrade, or anyone! I didn’t want to go to prison for it, really didn’t want to go to prison, or a psychiatric ward. Couldn’t I stay? Just stay here in the flat; I could be good in the flat! _No you can’t, you’ve proved that you can’t be._ But I didn’t want to go anywhere! _Well then behave yourself and don’t hurt anybody else._

“Okay, thanks Mycroft. I’ll... I guess I’m going to have to explain this to him.” John sighed down the hall. _They’ve changed their minds! You’re going now!_ No I wasn't! I refused! One more chance! That’s what John said, one more chance! I wanted that chance!

“Oh before you go... I don’t suppose you could possibly keep the security outside? Just... well, just in case... It’s not me I’m worried about; I can look after myself, its Mrs Hudson.... Thanks, thanks for understanding... Bye.” John sighed again, footsteps came towards the door. _Guards staying to look out for Mrs Hudson against you. Looks like you have a stay of execution._

“Sherlock, we... we need to talk.” John sounded so resigned as he knocked on the door, “Can I come in?”

“If, if you have to.” I moved out of the way of the door so he could get in, but didn’t bother getting up or uncurling myself. _That’s it, show remorse for hurting Lestrade. He probably hates you now by the way, and if he doesn’t hate you, he’s certainly going to be scared of you. If you’re lucky he’ll keep giving you cases, but only out of fear of you attacking him again._

John slowly came into the room, looking slightly shocked at me being on the floor. “Mind if I sit with you?” He asked softly.

“G-Go ahead.” He could do what he wanted; I wasn't going to stop him. I wasn't even going to touch him actually, or look at him. It was nearly impossible to hurt someone if you weren’t looking at them, or touching them, or sitting near them. So I made sure I was at least a metre away from John too. _He’ll have some warning if you decide to attack him. Maybe he’ll kill you in defence! Do you think John will be given a medal for it?_ Oh please don’t talk about something like that!

“Thanks... So, I think you know what I’m going to talk to you about.” John started, I nodded.

“I-I’m dangerous, and you’re all scared I-I’ll hurt someone else.” I answered, “I-I have one more chance to stop it, o-or I’m gone.” _Straight to prison where you’ll get killed!_

“Yeah, that’s the jist of it.” John nodded too, “I’m sorry Sherlock, but you understand why, don’t you? We wouldn’t be even discussing it if there were any other option, but, well yeah this is a bit not good. Honestly if there was any other option, we’d do it, but yeah.” He continued, at least looking regretful. _Why should John look like he regrets this? He’s getting rid of you if you screw up again, that’s called a result!_

“I understand.” I knew why, understood perfectly. Nobody should be apologising but me for my violent outbursts. I should have controlled myself, stopped hurting people, just _stopped_ being so damn dangerous to the people I loved, “I-Is Lestrade hurt? I didn’t... He’s okay isn’t he?” I had to ask, had to know that he was okay. _Of course he’s not; you just slammed him into a door!_

“When I left him, he was as fine as can be given the situation. I’ll be checking in on him every day for the rest of the week to make sure, but apart from a bit of bruising, he should be fine.” John smiled, reaching out for my hand; I didn’t let him have it. _You’ll hurt him if you touch him. Don’t touch anyone anymore, you’ll hurt them._

“Good, that’s... that’s good. I, I didn’t mean to, you know? I didn’t mean to do that in there. It just... it just happened. A-and I’m sorry.” I needed John to know that, needed Lestrade and everyone to know it. John had looked so _angry_ at me before while he was checking over Lestrade, I wanted him to know that I really was sorry.

“I know you are, I understand, and so does Lestrade. We know you didn’t mean to do it, you were stressed, and the guys down at the Yard are arseholes. I’m not saying you were justified, but I do understand why you lashed out, and let’s just be thankful that you didn’t hurt Lestrade more. We would have really been in trouble then, wouldn’t we?” John laughed nervously, then lapsed into quiet. Neither of us knowing what to say now. what did you say to someone who attacked others over stress? There wasn't anything. _All anybody can do is avoid, avoid, avoid!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments/kudos! I'm also going to be a bit of a pain in the ass and just say that not next week, the week after, I've got an incredibly busy week. My best friend is off work for a week so we're going to spend a lot of time together to make up for the fact that we haven't seen each other since April. I should be able to update around our various times out, because we're only really doing whole days out on days I don't usually update, but we shall see what actually happens! I'll try my best, but updates may be at really weird times!


	104. Chapter 104

103 Lestrade's POV                              

After the incident, John came over to my house to check that I was alright, giving me the all clear to go back to work at the end of it. He didn’t stay long after the check up, feeling like he needed to get home quick to Sherlock, make sure he was okay and wasn't getting stressed. But he did give me a few updates on Sherlock’s mental state, keeping me in the loop.

“He’s incredibly sorry; I’ve never actually seen him look so distraught at something he’s done before. He’s in a huge state over it, can’t even look at anybody anymore. But he’s asking after you every day, making sure that you are okay, and always asks me to tell you that he really is sorry, he’s promising he won’t do it again.” John explained on his last day of checkups, as he had done every day before.

“I know, tell him that I know he’s sorry, and I forgive him.” I did forgive Sherlock for his outburst, I knew he wasn't right in the head at the moment, and to be honest, I’d been expecting violent outbursts for a while. Ever since he’d had that panic attack in front of Molly before John came back, I’d been expecting him to react to stress with violence he didn’t actually mean. I just regretted not getting him past the rest of the teams at the Yard quicker, so he didn’t hear the scornful things they said about him.

“I do, it’s not doing much I’m afraid. Sherlock’s just... He’s really scared he’s hurt you badly, or that he’s going to hurt somebody else. He’s not letting anybody near him, not even Mrs Hudson is allowed close, which I’m actually slightly grateful for in a way. Phone calls from Mycroft are getting ignored, sleep is getting forgotten about and food isn’t being eaten either.” John bit his lip as he packed away his medical kit.

“Shit, I don’t suppose a crime scene is going to fix him this time either?” I guessed, wishing I could help, but figuring my presence would only stress Sherlock out more.

“Not likely. I don’t think seeing you is going to help right now, because of what happened. And your team... well, no offense but they’re right bastards to him which won’t help anything.” John sighed.

“None taken, I’ve tried talking to them and its done fuck all. They’ve always been cruel and after what happened two years ago they figure that he really is a psychopath. I can’t stop them talking, and after last week I doubt matters are going to be improved.” I leant back in my chair, wishing I could just stop the teams from being dicks to Sherlock. He wasn't necessarily the most moral person, but he did mean well a lot of the time, and he helped us all out a lot for no payment or credit. He was a great man; he just needed to work a little bit on the good bit. That didn’t mean he deserved the cruelty the Yard inflicted upon him.

“Probably not.” John agreed, sitting on the sofa with me.

“Do you have any plans on helping him through this?” I asked, hoping that there was a plan in place for our poor detective.

“Currently all we have is ‘see how he goes, if he hurts someone again he’s getting sent off somewhere’ where hasn’t been decided yet, but it’s all we’ve got at the moment. It’s not the best idea, but it’s all we have.” John clenched his fist, rubbing his eyes with the other one.

“Damn, bet that’s like waiting for a bomb to explode,” I got a nodded with an added groan, “Well if you ever need to talk, or anything like that, I’m here. Just give me a call and I’ll be right round, or you can come over here, or down the pub, whatever it is. I’m not the best for babysitting Sherlock at the moment, but I can help you, or help out behind the scenes. Whatever it is, I’m around.” I promised, because I wasn't about to let my friends suffer through this by themselves. If they needed me, I would help in any way I could.

“Right now, the only thing I think is going to work is a damn psych ward, or at least _therapy._ Sherlock’s so damn trapped inside his head I don’t think he can function for all the thoughts in his head, he won’t even tell me what’s going on in there. Thing is, I don’t even think he’ll talk to a therapist, he’s so damn headstrong and protective of that brain of his, I doubt he’ll ever open up to anyone.” John groaned, shoving his face into his hands.

“Not even Mycroft?” I earned a snort.

“He’d rather die than talk to Mycroft. The two are not on good terms right now, between Sherlock being Sherlock, mixed in with paranoia, and Mycroft’s meddling, I wouldn’t be surprised if Mycroft’s the next one Sherlock attacks, and that’ll be it, he’ll be off somewhere far away and out of our hands. But if he actually responds to treatment is another matter, he’s not responding to any of the medications we’ve put him on, so he might end up on hardcore meds and that’ll really knock him for six. Ugh I don’t know what to do right now! Sherlock’s so difficult to look after, I don’t know what he’s going to do at any time, and I feel like I’m just about keeping him alive, so he can suffer inside that big brain of his and only just about avoid from hurting people seriously.” John sounded so close to tears, hands shaking in his hair.

“I’m so sorry John, so sorry. I wish I could help out here, but I don’t know how. Sherlock has always been a wild card, and at the moment he’s a little more wild than usual, but he’ll calm down. Or he could surprise you; manage to turn this round by himself. You just, you just have to support him as much as you can right now and hope for the best.” I wished I could say more, but I couldn’t. That was all I could say on the matter. Sherlock was so ill and none of us had a clue on how to deal with him, we could only hope that he’d turn himself round, or we’d have to take him to a psych ward to help him. And even then we couldn’t be sure it would work for him, or make him any worse. But those were our two choices, and none of us were ready to find out which one would prevail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick update, thanks for the comments!


	105. Chapter 105

104 Sherlock's POV                         

_Don’t move, don’t talk, don’t look at anybody, don’t talk to them. Don’t do anything ever._ Couldn’t hurt anybody ever again, couldn’t risk hurting someone. It wouldn’t end well, I didn’t want to go to prison, I couldn’t go to prison. I’d die there, they’d kill me. _You would welcome it._ But I didn’t want to spend my last days in prison! I didn’t want to hurt anybody again, I couldn’t hurt someone again. Not again, I couldn’t risk going near anybody again, I’d hurt them and then I’d go to prison and then I’d be killed and I didn’t want to be killed I wanted to go out my own way and not in prison maybe on a case but if I went on a case I’d see Lestrade and he’d be really really angry because I hurt him and possibly scared of me and that wasn't good because I didn’t want him scared of me...

“Sherlock I’m home, Lestrade’s fine, I’ve given him the all clear. He was just a little bruised, like I thought he was.” John stopped the thought process dead.

_Don’t start a conversation you’ll get stressed and hurt John!_ but I had to reply because if I didn’t reply then John would think I was being rude and I wasn't being rude I just didn’t want to risk hurting him... “Good, that’s good.” I whispered, not looking at my flatmate, curling further into my chair and under my blanket.

“Yeah, and he’s not angry either. Really, he’s not.” John continued, going by the sounds coming from the kitchen he was making tea.

“You... You told him I was sorry, right?” I had asked this morning if John could pass the message along, it had been the only thing I’d said for days. I couldn’t get stressed when asking for that, _of course you can, you were asking for something. You’re not supposed to be asking for things, you don’t deserve to ask for things._ But I had to get the message along somehow because I couldn’t do it in person because that would be putting Lestrade in the danger zone! It was bad enough I was around John and Mrs Hudson, I couldn’t risk Lestrade too. _After going through all the effort of jumping off a building to save the three of them, this is how you end up. Putting them in danger of being hurt, you might as well have refused to jump in the first place and gotten them all shot dead._

“Yep, just like I have every day... But I think you should tell him yourself, because I think seeing Lestrade could make you feel better, so we can all start to move on.” _John’s tired of watching you practically rock in a corner and do nothing! He’s going to get really annoyed of you sitting there soon!_ But I couldn’t go out; I couldn’t do anything but sit here unless I wanted to risk hurting somebody else. _Make a choice, risk hurting someone or lose John completely._ Don’t make me choose! Oh God I couldn’t choose between those two thoughts!

“Whoa, whoa, hey it’s alright. No need to panic there mate, it was just a suggestion! You don’t have to apologise in person, I was just thinking it could make you feel better; I was only putting it out there. Lestrade knows you’re sorry, and he does forgive you, I promise.” John knelt in front of my chair, kind smile on his face. _He’s just avoiding a panic attack so you don’t hurt him. He knows you get violent when stressed._

“But, I need, I need to say sorry to him.” I needed to do it to maintain normal routines but I couldn’t go out and risk somebody being hurt again! But I couldn’t stay in because if I stayed in John was going to get more and more annoyed with me and the lack of cases and then he’d leave, I didn’t want to be alone, I didn’t want to be alone! But I couldn’t leave because I’d hurt someone! _Someone is **so** heading for deactivation; you’re so broken right now it’s not even funny. Do you think the next freak they find to solve crimes will be able to feel emotions without going over the top? _

“If you really want to, you don’t have to rush into it or force it you know... How about if you give him a call when you’re ready? Will that be better for you?” John suggested, I wasn't... I wasn't good with phones. I didn’t like the echoing sounds coming from the speaker, it made everybody sound like they were shouting.

“O-Okay, I-I’ll phone him.” It was a start, even if I never saw Lestrade in person ever again, I could at least say sorry to him over the phone. He could hear that I really didn’t mean to hurt him that way, at least he’d know. He’d really know that I was sorry, even if he hated me now, or was scared of me. _If he forgives you for this, he’s ridiculously stupid. You’re dangerous, a trained killer, if everyone’s not scared of you now they’re crazier than you._

“Good, that’s great Sherlock... I’m proud of you.” John smiled, getting up and leaving me alone again.

We had a relatively nice evening filled with a dinner I didn’t eat and silly TV shows I didn’t shout at for being silly, I was silent, building up an idea of what I wanted to say to Lestrade when I phoned him. I wanted to do it tonight if I could, before he went to bed. He usually fell asleep around one am after a shift, if I caught him at eleven, after John had gone to bed, that would be a good idea, right? Two hours before he went to bed so he would be reasonably tired, but awake enough to talk and understand what I was saying. That would be a good time to call... wouldn’t it? _Well I don’t know now do I? When is a good time to call up the man you attacked for absolutely no reason to say you’re sorry?_

I’d do it at eleven; there was no other time to do it so I had to do it then. I’d phone him and apologise because I had to, I couldn’t not do it. Even if Lestrade hated me I had to apologise so he knew I wasn't a psychopath. _Too bad you are a psychopath._ High functioning sociopath. _Same difference. Dangerous killer who has started hurting his friends, if you don’t go to prison soon you’ll start killing them. Then what will come out about what you’ve done?_ Stop talking! Please, five minutes, just _stop!_

“I’m heading to bed, please try to take the sleep meds and sleep tonight, you’re... the lack of sleep isn’t doing you any good, so please try to sleep tonight for me... night.” John sighed and headed upstairs, I grabbed my phone and headed to my room, calling Lestrade and praying this didn’t go too badly.

“Hell... Hello? Sherlock?” Lestrade grumbled, _shit you woke him up!_

“You were asleep... I-I’ll call you back later.” I rushed to shut the call off.

“NO! No wait a minute lad! What’s up?” Lestrade stopped me.

“I... I phoned because, I-I, what happened at the Yard. I shouldn’t... I wasn't... I’m so sorry I hurt you.” I whispered, the guilt feeling like it was crushing my chest. Somehow it felt so much worse talking to Lestrade himself, it made it all feel more _real,_ not like a sort of half true dream I’d had.

“Ah it’s alright kid, you didn’t hurt me that much, just a few bruises, that’s all.” Lestrade reassured me, _he didn’t say whether he forgave you or not, just stated damage._

“You, you are going to be okay, right?” Lestrade had to be okay, he was _always_ okay, he was Lestrade, he had to be okay.

“Yeah, I’m alright kid, haven’t even had to take time off or anything. John’s given me the all clear today in fact, there’s no damage done. So there’s no need to be worrying about me, alright?” Lestrade answered, I sighed in relief for a second.

“I, I still hurt you. I didn’t mean it, really, I didn’t... it was, I was stressed a-and I lashed out. I didn’t mean it, a-and I shouldn’t have hurt you like that.” I scrubbed a hand through my hair, wishing this was easier. _Well you haven’t exactly been forthcoming with the apologies in the past; you’re not exactly used to it._

“I understand, I know you didn’t mean it. The guys are the Yard are dicks, hearing the shit they were saying is bound to stress anybody out. I’m not saying you had the right reaction, but you were stressed, and that I can’t fault.” There was a rustling sound on the end of the line, sounding like Lestrade was shrugging or something. _He’s just saying that._ But he didn’t sound angry...

“I-I shouldn’t have done it though.” I whispered again, hugging my knees.

“Yeah, but what’s done is done. We can’t undo it, all we can do is forgive, forget and move on. So how about we do that, huh? I know I’ve forgiven you, so you can stop beating yourself up now, fancy moving on?” Lestrade spoke like I was a child. _He’s just trying to keep you from having another freak out and breaking something, or someone._

“I, I want to... But I-I don’t know i-if I can.” I wanted to, I wanted forget so badly, but I couldn’t. If I forgot, I could hurt someone again; I didn’t want to hurt another person. It wouldn’t, I couldn’t do it!

“You can kid, I promise. Me and John can help you; all of us can help you through this, alright? Anything you need, just ask for it and we can help. Even if it means taking over crime scene information to Baker Street and giving you some space at scenes so you’re not around the things stressing you out, we can do it. Just let us help you, and we’ll do whatever it is we can to help you through this, I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments/kudos!


	106. Chapter 106

105 Sherlock's POV                                               

Lestrade talked to me for an exceptionally long time, well over an hour in fact, promising over and over that he forgave me and that he would help me in any way he could with the problems I was having. _He just wants his machine to solve his crimes for as long as possible._ But I hadn’t been solving his crime scenes all too often recently, I’d been... _out of action_.

  _Well then he probably has one he needs looking over right now. He can’t work with you if you’re jittering in a corner and having a complete freak out over being near him, now can he? So he’s taking the opportunity of you saying sorry now to get you back on his side so you can solve a case for him._

“So whatya say lad, fancy putting all this behind us and moving on?” Lestrade finished up the call.

“Y-Yes.” I nodded; knowing saying sorry again would only prompt him to say that apologising wasn't necessary for the fifth time in the last twenty minutes. _It’s not enough, it’s never enough, it’ll never be enough!_

“Great. Tomorrow I’ll have another serious talk to the Yard and see what I can do for you at crime scenes, to make things easier on you and all that, then we’ll see where we go from there. If you need me for anything at all, call me alright? Even if it’s not case related, come and talk to me, we can sort out whatever your problem is together. But for now, I’ve really got to go to bed, it’s past one in the morning and I’ve got to be awake in seven hours.” Lestrade yawned; I hadn’t kept him that long had I?!

_Well obviously you have. You’ve taken several needed hours of sleep from one of London’s finest, he’s going to be grouchy in the morning because of you, which means his talk with the Yarders is going to go down worse than it already was. They’re going to hate you even more, and they’re not going to be afraid to show it. What are you going to do about that?_ Not hurt them, never hurt them, not one more person was to be hurt by my hand! _Good luck with that._

“Sorry, sorry for keeping you awake. I didn’t mean... it wasn't what I wanted to do... I just wanted...” _spit words out already!_

“It’s okay Sherlock, you needed it, _we_ needed that talk. I think we’re both better off for it too, so don’t worry about it. You get off to bed yourself now as well; you’re going to be no good at all tomorrow without some sleep. Night kid.” Lestrade hung up... no good tomorrow? _As in, get some sleep, you’re needed tomorrow, so make sure you have some energy._ Fuck I wasn't ready to go back in yet! _What did you think Lestrade was forgiving you for? So you’d come out on a future case that may or may not happen?! Unlikely! He wants you **now.**_ Shit I wasn't ready; I really wasn't ready for that! _Too bad._

I had to prepare myself, had to get myself ready for this. But how could I do that? I couldn’t _sleep,_ not with John and Mrs Hudson in! They’d hear me crying out in the night, it wouldn’t... they couldn’t _hear_ that, it would be the last strike against me and they’d take me away! _But where though? Psych ward or prison? Or, depending what you scream about and how you react after waking up, the firing squad._ Not the firing squad, they wouldn’t do that. Mrs Hudson was too kind for that, and John was a doctor, he wouldn’t stand for it. And, and it wasn't legal in this country to kill someone under any circumstance...

_Like that will stop Mycroft giving the order. Bending the law to his will is one of his damn hobbies!_ John and Mrs Hudson still wouldn’t let it happen, they couldn’t let it happen! They were nice; they wouldn’t do that to me. _Whatever you say._ Well that’s what I said! Now shut up, I needed to prepare for whatever tomorrow brought.

I raced into my Mind Palace, desperately trying to grab memories that could incite fear or flashbacks and dragging them into locked rooms. I’d tried before and it hadn’t worked, but I had to try again now, had to stamp it all out as fast as I could for now. The memories had to be stored somewhere safe where they couldn’t get out, at least for a day anyway. I could deal with it all later, it just needed to be gotten rid of _now,_ for at least a day, just to get through whatever Lestrade had for me tomorrow. I’d be fine after that, I’d figure something else out, but now I had prewarning, I had to figure it out and get rid of all the worrying things. _Appear normal, appear normal. You have to be normal or you’ll go away._ Couldn’t go away, I couldn’t go away!

\--                                                                                  

By some miracle, I’d managed to shove everything away as much as I could by the time John woke up the next morning. I could hear him wandering about the flat and it had brought me out of my own head, so I started making the motions of getting up myself, making at least look like I’d rested last night. I sort of had really, Mind Palace trips were restful... when I was just wandering... not running around like a mad man. _Well you are a mad man._ Damn it no I wasn't! I was just... not running on all cylinders right now. _Nice explanation. Shame it’s just a lie to make you feel better about yourself._

“Morning!” John smiled as I came out of the bathroom, ready and waiting Lestrade’s call.

“Morning.” I answered, eating the toast he put in front of me. I could feel it rolling around in my stomach within seconds of taking the first bite, but I forced myself to eat it. _Got to eat Sherlock, Lestrade won’t be happy if you pass out from hunger and exhaustion in the middle of an investigation. The food will give you some sort of energy to not pass out._ Exactly, so I had to push on through. And I couldn’t afford to be sick anyway, I couldn’t worry anyone further than I was already. I had to keep going, just keep on like normal. I couldn’t show weakness, couldn’t get sent away somewhere. _You have to stay here. You can’t go anywhere else; you’ll die if you leave._ Didn’t want to die, not in a prison like that. _Or spending the rest of your life sedated to the point where you can’t move or think._ God no.

“So... I take it your conversation went well with Lestrade?” John asked, _he wants to know if you’re going out on a case today. Look at him fidgeting in his seat; he’s **itching** to get out. _

“Y-Yes, we, we spoke for a while. It went well... really well.” I answered, watching John sag in relief.

“That’s great, I’m glad about that. Did it make you feel better about the whole incident?” John pressed, he usually read the paper over breakfast, today he was fully paying attention to me, it was making me feel far too exposed. _Well get used to it, he’s watching like a hawk for any signs of you going nuts and needing taking away. And probably watching for any signs of you trying to hurt him, just because you apologised to Lestrade doesn’t mean you’re magically cured._

“A little.” That wasn't actually a lie; I didn’t feel _as_ bad as I had done about the attack. I still felt awful for it, and like I shouldn’t ever go near Lestrade again, or anyone else for that matter, but I felt a tiny bit better after apologising and hearing that Lestrade did forgive me in some way or other. _If you’re that scared, why are you near John?_ To... To show that I could be somewhat close to someone, I had to be close at other times, like when Lestrade called us in, I had to be close to John. Still a metre apart from each other, but still close enough.

Though being close to John was completely different to being close to Lestrade, or any of the Yarders. With their glares, and their nasty comments... and whatever apprehension I was going to cause. I didn’t know if I could handle it, but I was going to have to, I was going to have to deal with it and move on, I didn’t have another choice. I refused to hurt anybody else, refused to sabotage my life here in Baker Street. I was going to be good from now on, not hurting anyone, or doing anything wrong. I was going to be good and normal now... I hoped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comment and all the kudos!  
> Just a quick reminder that if there is no update on Wednesday, I'm really sorry, but I may have forgotten/gotten swept up in Harry Potter/Jurassic World and be a bit too exhausted to update. I'll try my best, and I'm 90% sure I'll remember, but if I don't, I'm very sorry!


	107. Chapter 107

106 Sherlock's POV

Lestrade didn’t call that morning. Or the afternoon. Or the next day. Or the next. Why wasn't he calling? Had he changed his mind about forgiving me or bringing me in on a case? Why had he changed his mind?! What did I do to change his mind?

_Oh I don’t know, **attack** him! _But, but I apologised, and he said that he forgave me; he said he wanted me back to help him solve crimes. Why wasn't he phoning with crimes? He implied he had something for me during the phone call, why wasn't he phoning again with that case?! _Because you’re bloody dangerous, Lestrade can’t risk his life or any of his teams just because you need a new puzzle to solve to keep John happy._ But he said he had something! I didn’t understand, I didn’t understand why he wasn't giving me what he said he would!

“Sherlock?” John made me leap feet with a scream, “Sorry, but what’s up? You’re practically vibrating you’re so tense... Has something happened?” If only something happened! I wanted something to happen, I wanted this case, I wanted to solve it, prove I could, prove that I wasn't broken and that I could function. I wanted it, I wanted it so _badly,_ I didn’t understand why it was being withheld!

“Why isn’t Lestrade giving us the case he told me about when I phoned him?” I wanted to know, politeness be damned right now. I wanted the case! _Impatient as always, you don’t change do you?_ I needed it to prove that I had some worth still, that I didn’t need to be sent to prison or anywhere else because I was broken! Why was that so hard to understand?

“What case was that? I didn’t think Lestrade had anything he needed us for right now.” John reached for his phone.

“He... He said I needed sleep when I was talking to him. I needed sleep to be ready in the morning. That meant he had a case, doesn’t it? He had a case and he needed us called in to help him solve it. Why hasn’t he given it to us? I don’t... I don’t understand why he hasn’t called us in yet.” _Ohhhh admitting you don’t understand something! That’s going to go down well!_

“Oh... I... Are you sure that Lestrade meant that he had a case for us? Maybe he was just telling you to get some sleep so you’d be ready for whatever the day gave you? When did he tell you to get some sleep?” John sat down on the floor with me, keeping his distance, just like always. _Scared you’ll hurt him._ I wouldn’t hurt John. _Yes you would. You hurt Lestrade, you’ll hurt John too._

“At twenty-seven minutes past twelve.” I had noted the time when he said it.

“Ah, I don’t think he meant that he had a case for you Sherlock. I think he meant that it was late and that you needed sleep, that’s all. He wasn't specifically saying there was a case... But I can phone Lestrade if you want, see if there is anything.” John spoke to me like I was an incredibly stupid child. _Well you did misread a conversation that anybody else in the world would have gotten. Are you sure you’re not stupid?_ I wasn't stupid!

“Never said you were Sherlock. I’m going to phone Lestrade, alright? See if there is anything for us.” John got up again, phoning Lestrade for me, “Hey Greg, it’s me. I was wondering, got any cases for us? Sherlock thought you mentioned one when you were talking the other night, was there anything?” He asked, “Er, yeah, we’re a bit _bored_ around here at the moment, so any type of case will do at the moment.” _That was code. There was a code hidden in that somewhere. They’ve devised a code to talk about you in front of you!_ Why did I have a code!? When did they come up with a code?! What were they saying about me?!

“Great, I’ll tell him. On the banks by the Eye? Right, we’ll be there soon, cheers Greg.” John ended the call, “There’s a body on the banks by the London Eye. Poor sod apparently drowned, but there’s a few suspicious marks on them, Lestrade wants your opinion.” He explained.

“Better get there quickly then.” I rushed to pull on my coat and get out the door. There was a case, a few days late, maybe not what Lestrade had intended for us, but good enough. I could prove my worth here, do exactly as everyone wanted, do the deductions and solve the case. And not hurt anyone, physically or mentally. No attacking today, with my words and especially not with my fists.

I would be a good little consulting detective today, I would go in, deduce the body and track down the killer with John, then we would go for Chinese and bask in the adrenalin and _everything would be okay._ I refused any other outcome, because I needed this, I so badly needed this. _Good luck with proving you’re not completely crazy. You know you’re going to freeze up in front of the Yarders when they start staring. Then you’re going to get scared, then you’ll hear what they’re saying and completely fall to pieces. Who do you think you’ll hurt this time? Anderson or Donovan? Lestrade again? **John?** Or do you think you’ll manage to hold it in until you get home, then you’ll be putting Mrs Hudson in the firing line. _

Nope, not happening, I would get through this just fine, because I wasn't going to play this attack game anymore. I was going to breathe; I was going get through this. I’d hidden all the bad memories away, they weren’t coming out to play today, and I wasn't going to listen to what the Yarders said, because I had always been able to block them out, today would be no different.

_Apart from the fact that the last time you actually blocked them out, you hadn’t nose dived off a building, or attacked their boss right in front of them. They’ll be out for your blood today._

_Hey, fun idea, what if this is all a ruse to get you arrested? What if this ‘case’ is a lie and you’re being carted off because you’ve ruined your last chance? That sounds like fun, doesn’t it? Ruining your last chance and now you’re being carted off to prison for hurting people. You’ll die in prison you know, you’ll die slowly and painfully. Because you deserve it. Won’t it be fun to be dead too? Nobody will be bothering you, no-one would get hurt by you again either. It’ll be the sweetest relief from all of this. And everyone else will be happy too, because they’ll be away from the evil monster you are._

I groaned and squeezed my eyes shut, wishing that damn voice away, just to get through the case. There was actually a case too, because John would tell me if I’d broken my last chance. We had a no lies rule; he wouldn’t break that, because he was a good man. _Why would he tell you you’re being arrested? You’d run off and hide again like a pathetic wimp, making everything worse for yourself. Of course John isn’t going to tell you that you’re about to be arrested, he isn’t stupid enough to let you get away._

Wasn't happening, wasn’t happening, there was a damn crime scene and we were going to solve a case like normal. I wasn't getting arrested, I would have noticed if that was happening, I would have noticed a change in behaviour from everyone, there hadn’t been a behaviour change, therefore I wasn't getting bloody arrested!

The crime scene rolled up and I was right, there was a body and the usual Yarders around. No arrest was being made today. _You’re implying you won’t solve this case then._ I meant they weren’t here to arrest me! Stop talking and throwing me off!

“Boss, Fre- _Sherlock_ is here.” Donovan growled as we arrived, _so Lestrade did actually talk to them then._

“Great, over here you two, see what you make of this!” Lestrade called us over to the body on the embankment, “No name on the victim, but was dragged out of the Thames after someone spotted the body floating around. Initial idea is that the poor sod drowned, but then we noticed these bruises on the wrists, like they’d been tied up, but there hadn’t been any rope on the body when it was found.” Lestrade explained... I knew those marks.

**_“Now, going to tell me what you know about this place?” My captor stopped the barrage of water hitting my face, allowing me to heave in breath for a few seconds._ **

**_“I don’t know anything! I swear! I was lost and found this place and came in for shelter!” I stuck to my cover story, coughing up water until my lungs burnt._ **

**_“Wrong answer.” He growled, turning the hose on again, water hitting me hard in the face with such force I was pressed into the wall._ **

**_Water filled every cavity; no air could get in anywhere! I couldn’t breathe! I couldn’t move! I couldn’t do anything!_ **

**_“Try again. What are you doing here?” My captor stopped the hose again._ **

“The... The marks are rope burns. The hands were bound recently.” I whispered, feeling nauseous. _Ohhhh starting to feel the lack of air, all that water filling your lungs? The ropes burning your wrists behind your back? Do you remember how that felt?_

“Got that from doing our jobs, now give us something we don’t know like you usually do. Or are you just here to attack someone again?” Anderson hissed, the venom of his tone morphing his face into the horrific parody of the Serbian torturer.

“Shut it Anderson, you don’t know anything of what happened.” John growled at him, hand coming around my wrist. _Keeping you from attacking him._

“I... I didn’t mean to.” I hadn’t meant to attack Lestrade! _Well they think you’re a psychopath, so they aren’t going to believe that now are they? And they’re right too; you are a psychopath with some very violent tendencies._

“Sure you didn’t.” Anderson rolled his eyes.

“Enough Anderson, get back to photographing the body.” Lestrade glared at the man.

“Fine. Listen to the bloody psychopath.” Anderson grumbled under his breath. I wasn't a psychopath! _Of course not, you just attack people for fun._

“Sherlock, focus on the body a minute, tell us what you see.” John directed my attention back to the body. **Keep to the body, keep focusing on the body. Keep it together Sherlock.**

“Erm, they... They didn’t drown in the river. They were...” _go on, say it,_ “They might, might have been... with the bruising and drowning, could have been,” _spit it out already!_ “Water boarded. B-But that i-isn’t certain.” I whispered, Anderson continued grumbling as he opened the shirt of the victim, revealing more bruising. Very familiar bruising.

**_The pole smacked hard into my rib, agony flaring through my entire left side. It hit again with deadly precision three more times._ **

**_“Come on, give me a name and we’ll stop.” Serbian torturer whispered gently, like any of this was gentle and easy._ **

“Torture.” I felt my knees go weak, recognising that pattern bruising so well, so damn painfully well.

“Torture? You got _that_ from a few bruises? Where the hell did you get that idea from? They could have been in a fight for all we know!” Donovan shouted, face screwing up in disgust. Why was she disgusted?! I hadn’t done anything! _You went for the most disturbing answer first, that’s disgusting. She’s seeing more and more of a psychopathic, boss-attacking freak now._

“I-I, I’ve seen them before. I s-saw them while I was away.” I winced as I said it, wishing the flashing images in my head went away.

**_The whip cracked over already stinging flesh, whole body jerking forward in pain. I could barely stand anymore, I couldn’t do this! So much hurt, I was so tired, in so much pain. I wanted it to end. But I had to push through, get through this and escape, get rid of the sector and get back to John. I had to get back to John some day and not in a body bag._ **

“You what? You saw stuff while you were away that _you_ say looks like _torture_? What the hell were you doing?” Anderson looked at me like I was completely insane.

“Oh my God, were you _torturing_ people while you were away? You were actually torturing and killing people while you were playing dead! I knew it; I knew you were a psychopath!” Donovan and every single Yarder started closing in, coming closer and closer to me. _You’re getting arrested! They’re going to arrest you because they think you tortured and killed people!_ NO! I didn’t do that! I didn’t! I didn’t torture people, that wasn't what I meant! 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the comments and the kudos! :D  
> As a side note, Harry Potter Studio Tour in London is AMAZING, if you're ever in London I'd seriously recommend going because it is SO good! And if you have time, go to Baker Street too, especially the Sherlock Holmes museum, I only stopped off in there briefly but it's awesome for Sherlock fans! :D


	108. Chapter 108

107 John's POV

Before I could react, Sherlock had bolted, racing out of the way of the descending Yarders and running off down the street.

“After him!” Donovan shouted, everyone starting to run.

“Everyone do not go after him! You lot stay right the hell here!” Lestrade grabbed some of the runners back, sending me a desperate look.

“Tell me it’s not true.” He whispered to me, face slowing draining of colour.

“Not a word... He was... He was tortured Greg. He knows that was water boarding because he’s experienced it. I’ll explain later, I’ve got to go and get him.” I ran up the bank and after Sherlock, feeling like I had left him too long to escape anyway. But where would he go? Where would Sherlock go now?

My phone vibrated in my pocket, I pulled it out to see Mycroft had texted.

‘He’s heading towards Baker Street. I have men heading towards his location now, don’t assume they’ll be able to stop him.’ it read, a blacked out car pulling up on the street, I jumped in and it hared off towards Baker Street, presumably under Mycroft’s orders.

I raced back into the flat, bursting into 221b without bothering to knock like usual, just needing to get to Sherlock before he did something stupid.

“Come to get me huh? Come to take down the big, bad Sherlock Holmes, the _killer and torturer?_ Where’s your back up, you’re going to need back up against a dangerous man like me.” Sherlock paced back and forth in the front room, words tumbling out of his mouth without much coherency, arms wildly flailing.

“I’m not here to take you down Sherlock, I’m here... I’m here to talk.” I tried my best to look calm and put together, not like I was ready to be jumped and attacked any second.

“Oh _sure_ you are, that’s what they all say! ‘We’re here to talk’ and then comes the grabbing and the taking away! I say to hell with that! I’m not going! I’m not! You can’t make me!” Sherlock’s voice rose in panic.

“I’m not making you do anything, okay? I’m not. But you do need to calm down right now, before things get out of hand.” I stepped a little closer, like I was edging towards a trapped lion.

“Bit too late for that isn’t it? They know now John! They _know,_ they know what I did, they know what I am! I can’t escape that; I won’t ever get away from that! I’ve proved them all right, proved that I’m a psychopath! They all know it now, and you do too! That’s it for me! I’m finished now, going to be clapped in irons and sent off to prison where people like me belong! And they’ve sent you to get me, haven’t they? Because I won’t hurt you, wouldn’t ever hurt you John, not the person I care about most in the world, not the person I died to protect! You’re a safe bet there, no way I’d hurt you...” He was getting hysterical, pacing getting worse and words tumbling faster and faster out of his mouth, never stopping, everything getting more and more frantic.

“And you can shut up too! Always going on and on in my head, never keeping quiet, always reminding me of what I did. _Don’t let John know; make him think you’re normal so he doesn’t leave!_ Well damn it now he knows and we’re both fucked so you can shut up right now and _leave me alone!_ ” Sherlock shouted to thin air... I really, really hoped Mycroft’s men were waiting outside if things got too bad. I wasn't going to be able to take him by myself if he got any worse.

“Sherlock, listen to me, I can help you. Just come with me and we can get you help. Just calm down a little and we can go.” I held out a hand, hoping he’d take it and hear what I was saying.

“NO! I’m not going anywhere! I’m staying right here! You can’t punish me for what I was ordered to do!” Sherlock shoved me against the wall, my head cracking against the doorframe.

The world blacked out for a few moments, the distinct feeling of blood starting to trickle down my neck.

“Oh, no, no, no! I didn’t mean, I didn’t... I’m sorry! I can’t... I’m sorry!” Sherlock was shouting, before the sound of footsteps fleeing down the stairs was heard.

“Fuck.” I swore and stumbled up right, feeling the world tilt on its axis. I refused to fall though, I had to follow him, had to get to Sherlock before it was too late.

But by the time I got downstairs, Sherlock had already disappeared, leaving several of Mycroft’s men unconscious on the floor, another car was driving up at the same time. The door swung open to reveal Mycroft.

“I’m tracking Sherlock’s movements; get in quick before we lose him.” He ordered, I didn’t think twice before diving in, the car moving before the door swung shut.

The car couldn’t move fast enough as we chased Sherlock through the streets of London, the man moving awfully quick through the backstreets with what looked like no real destination. Yet we couldn’t keep up with him, always kept too far away because the car had to stay on the road.

“He’s heading towards the cemetery.” Mycroft suddenly said, “He’s heading relatively diagonally towards the cemetery we fake buried him in. Head towards it now.” He ordered the driver, and sure enough, he was right.

But why would Sherlock be going that way? What would be at his grave that he’d want? Oh God, _his own grave._ He wanted to get to his own grave.

I didn’t wait for the car to stop to jump out and run through the familiar paths to get to Sherlock’s grave, needing to get there quick enough before Sherlock did something drastic. Soon I saw his shaking figure in front of the black marble gravestone, and as I got closer, I could hear him shouting.

“It’s what was supposed to happen, wasn't it?! I wasn't supposed to survive that jump and live through this! But now I have and now I’m going to be sent to prison and it’s all your fault! It’s your fault I’m here you bastard! I was forced into this and now I’m going down for it too! I lost everything I thought I had because of you!” He was shouting at the grave, voice wavering from exhaustion.

“Sherlock stop before you do something stupid!” I called out to him, praying he didn’t have a gun. He couldn’t kill himself here without a gun.

“Go away John! I’m not going down for this! You can’t make me go down for this!” Sherlock shouted back, turning round to face me. No gun. That was good, only good bit in the situation, but good.

“Of course not Sherlock, wouldn’t plan on having you arrested for it. You were doing what you had to do, right? Just like always, doing everything you had to do for a reason.” I spoke as softly as I could; keeping my hands in his line of sight at all times so he knew I wasn't going to hurt him.

“Don’t lie to me! You _know_ and that means that I can’t carry on a free man! Everybody knows that psychopaths should be locked up, and I’m a psychopath! Nobody is going to let me walk free from all of this!” Sherlock was shaking terribly, looking almost like the demonic version of himself with the wild anger on his face.

“I’m not lying to you, you’re not a psychopath Sherlock, you’re just... You’re a little confused, you’ve been through a lot, and you need some help, that’s all. You just need a bit of help, and I can help you get it if you let me. We can do this together you know, the two of us against the rest of the world, just how you like it.” I would do anything to get him better, to get him to come to terms with everything that happened to him. I’d stay by his side, keep him safe, and make sure he knew that he was going to be okay again.

“I hurt you! You’ve got a concussion already, you don’t trust me! You can’t ever trust me again after all of this, neither can Lestrade, or Mycroft, or Mrs Hudson, nobody can ever trust me again! And for that you won’t let me get away with all of this! You’re going to take me away I know it!” Sherlock tensed as I came closer, “Don’t come any closer, I’ll hurt you again!” He reached out his hands to push me away, before taking them away again.

“I don’t believe that at all. Yes you hurt me back at the flat, but you didn’t mean it, you haven’t meant any of it really. You’re stressed; you’re having flashbacks too, aren’t you? It’s tough to deal with, and sometimes that involves lashing out, it’s not pretty but it happens. But we can fix it, together, if you let me help you.” I promised, reaching out for his hands.

“No! You can’t take me away; you can’t do that to me! I won’t let you!” Sherlock fought weakly against my hold on him, “Don’t touch me I’m evil! I’m evil, I’ll hurt you! I’m going to hurt you, I’m evil! Aren’t you listening? I’m evil!” Sherlock slowed down, starting to sob and fall over. “J-Just do it, I’m evil John, k-kill me. P-Please, I’m evil, kill me!”

I wrapped him in my arms and let us fall to the floor, cradling his shivering body.

“Please do it John, kill me. I-I don’t want this, kill me! I’m evil, kill me!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for the comments and the kudos!  
> I must give credit for this chapter to the writers of Angel, there's a specific episode in series 1 called 'Revelations' which focuses on Faith's breakdown after a long, long fight with herself and the world around her. The end scene really inspired me for this fic, and this chapter in particular, if you've seen the episode you'll be able to see where I'm coming from, if you haven't, go and watch Buffy and Angel, they're incredible! Though if you just want to see the scene I'm talking about there's a fan video with it in, it sparked this entire fic off in a way so if you want to check it out it's called 'Echoes - a character study of Faith Lehane.'  
> Also I was wondering if anybody would be interested in reading any of my original work. I'm working myself up to rewriting the novel I'm wrote a few years back and want to write some short stories based off it, to do a bit of world building and to see if the idea itself works. Would anybody be interested in it?


	109. Chapter 109

108 Mycroft's POV

“What are we going to do Mycroft? He’s... Did he actually mean he wanted me to kill him?” John whispered, watching my brother sleep. We’d given Sherlock a light sedative at the graveyard after he’d stopped crying so we could transport him back to my house for safe keeping. Right now, he was sleeping in the bed I’d had put in what I allocated as his room, looking far too small and pale under the sheets again. It reminded me far too much of the hospital, I wouldn’t stand to see him look like this a third time.

“We shall have to see about that when he wakes.” I answered John’s question, unsure how to explain Sherlock's words. He had been pleading his friend to _kill him,_ shouting out that he was evil, I couldn’t make out if that was the heat of the moment talking, or if he actually wanted to die. I was hoping that it was just the stress talking, not an actual want. Sherlock didn’t take well to suicide watch, never had and never would.

“O-Okay. He’s... You’re going to get him fixed this time, aren’t you? He’s going to turn out alright now, because you’re going to get him help, so he’s going to be alright.” John sounded more like he was trying to reassure himself than anything.

“Yes I’m going to see to it that Sherlock gets the help he needs, properly this time too. Sherlock will not be suffering for much longer, that I can promise.” I wouldn’t allow it, Sherlock’s suffering ended _now._ All previous mistakes were going to be fixed and he wasn't going to be left alone in pain ever again. We had all made mistakes in the past, this was where they stopped.

“Good, good... I... Can you please keep me updating with him? So I know, I want to know he’s okay.” John twisted his shirt sleeves in his fingers, tears filling his eyes, “I-I know I failed him, didn’t do what you wanted me to do, but please can you keep me in the loop in this? I want to know... I want to know he’s going to be okay.”

“I don’t see why I should keep you updated when you’ll be visiting as much as Sherlock wants to see you.” I sighed, making John’s head whip up in surprise.

“You’re... You’re not going to ban me from seeing him? E-Even after this? I-I thought you weren’t going to stand for me failing him?” John looked so damn hopeful it was almost hateful.

“I hate to say that I was wrong, but I may have possibly been too hard with your responsibilities. Sherlock certainly did improve with you around, you have a positive effect on him and I doubt he’ll stand to be separated from you now, not while he’s dealing with all this change, and having to face his fears. He’s managed to avoid them spectacularly recently, and apart from dosing him up on the medications he was given, feeding him and trying to make him better, you couldn’t have done more. So I guess there isn’t any real offense I can have you sent to Antarctica for. You’ll be staying for as long as Sherlock wants you, though this time more like a friend than a doctor.” I sighed, _hating_ admitting that I was wrong in any sense. I’d just been trying to make my brother better; all I’d really done was prolong his suffering and cause this breakdown.

“Thank you, thank you. I don’t want to leave him; I’ll be here every time he wants me, whenever it is, even if that’s 3am in the morning.” John promised, just as Sherlock made a small whining sound, head twitching on the pillow.

He made another whimpering sound before going tense, every muscle freezing in his body.

“It’s okay Sherlock, I’m here. You’re at Mycroft’s, you’re safe.” John whispered gently, hesitating in reaching for Sherlock’s hand, but eventually taking it, squeezing tight.

“That’s right; you’re in a safe place now. There’s no need to worry.” I tried to sound reassuring, but it turned out just sounding like I was bored. I certainly was not bored right now, I had so much to organise and deal with, but I needed to talk to Sherlock about it first. I’d made too many mistakes in the past in trying to run his life and make his decisions for him, today I was going to _ask_ him what he wanted and do as he asked. It was a strange idea, and I wasn't sure I liked not knowing what Sherlock was going to do, but I wasn't going to freak him out more by not letting him make his decisions again.

“My... Mycroft?” Sherlock whispered into his pillow weakly, his eyes slowly opening, blearily looking up at me.

“Welcome back to the real world brother.” I answered, wanting to reach out and touch him, but decided against it. Sherlock wasn't keen on me touching him.

“Yeah, welcome back Sherlock, we’re here now. You’re safe.” John promised, reassuring smile plastered on his face as Sherlock’s head twisted to look at him.

“John?” Sherlock suddenly tensed further, eyes widening, “No, no, no, what are you doing here?! What’s going on, why are you holding my hand?! What’s happening?!” Sherlock scrambled upright, yanking his hands from John's.

“Whoa there mate, calm down. It’s just us two; we’re at Mycroft’s house. It’s okay; we’ll explain everything in a minute.” John put his hands up placatingly.

“Sherlock calm down, you’re not in any danger here, the situation is under control.” I told my brother, seeing the panic fly through him.

“What? No, no I-I don’t... I can’t be here! I can’t, what are you doing here?!” Sherlock cried out, pressing himself into the wall frantically.

“We’re here to help you Sherlock, take a deep breath and we’ll tell you exactly what’s happening. Just breathe a little okay? You’ve had a long day; we don’t want you to pass out again.” John reached out and held Sherlock's hand again.

“NO! Don’t touch me, you can’t! I’ll hurt you... I _already_ hurt you! Get away from me!” Sherlock shoved his friend back, “No, I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Don’t... I didn’t mean it! I can’t...” He apologised even though John came to no harm, didn’t even look like he was going to fall over either.

“Sherlock, it’s okay, you didn’t do any harm.” John answered, “But I’m not going anywhere right now, you need help, and we’re getting it for you, alright? You’re going to be okay. Just listen a minute and we’ll tell you everything.”

“I-I hurt you, I hurt you, I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I-It wasn't my, my... I didn’t mean it! I’m sorry! You... You have a minor concussion and bruising, oh God I hurt you, I’m so sorry!” Sherlock sobbed, hands tugging and tapping at his skull.

“William, listen to me, don’t think about that right now, you need to calm down before you cause another situation. Breathe again, before you have another panic attack and pass out.” I pulled a hand away from his wild curls, firm but not threatening... if he could tell the difference.

“Get off me! I’m going to hurt you!” Sherlock shoved again, managing to break free and run out of the room.

“After him, don’t let him go! But for God’s sake, be careful!” I ordered the guards outside of the room. I had hoped that this wasn't going to end up in such a confrontation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kind comments, I was panicking a little about that last chapter, I'm glad you liked it! :D


	110. Chapter 110

109 Sherlock's POV

I sprinted down the unfamiliar corridors of Mycroft’s home, trying desperately to get away. I had to get away; I couldn’t hurt any more people. I’d hurt John, I’d hurt John. _You monster! You hurt him; you gave him a damn concussion! They’re going to put you down for this! You’re evil! You are evil incarnate!_ I was evil, I was so evil! I didn’t want to be evil but I couldn’t escape, like I couldn’t escape this house!

Why were all the corridors so twisting, I didn’t recognise this part of the house! It looked... it looked like 221b! But the wallpaper was off; the decorations weren’t completely the same. I didn’t... why did parts of Mycroft’s house look like 221b?! It didn’t usually look like this, what was happening?! _You’ve completely lost the plot, that’s what has happened!_ How?! What?!

_You’ve completely lost it, you’re imagining things! Either that or Mycroft thinks you’re so damn insane you won’t notice being moved into an imitation version of your home._ But why would he do that? I didn’t understand! _Don’t worry about understanding stupid; just run before they catch you!_

I ran down another corridor, lungs and legs burning, but refusing to stop, terrified of the consequences. I didn’t want to think of what was going to happen to me right now. I’d attacked John, Scotland Yard thought that they had proof that I was a psychopath, and _fuck_ John had heard it too! He was going to think, he was going to _know_ that I was an evil psychopath! _You’re going to be put down. No question, you’re being put down now, psychopath._

Guards rounded the corner in front of me, more running in from behind, grabbing my arms and forcing me to stay still.

“NO! No, let me go! Let me go! Let go of me right now! Let me go!” I screamed out, fighting desperately and getting nowhere. They were too strong, even without any actual restraints they were too strong!

John and Mycroft came running round the corner, doing nothing to stop the guards from holding me so hard. _Why would they? You’re a danger to them, why would they want you to be free?_

“Let me go! Please! Let me go!” I begged them; _you aren’t getting out of this moron. Stop moaning._

“Not right now Sherlock, not until you’ve calmed down.” John told me, keeping his distance.

“Please, please don’t do this! Don’t put me down; I don’t want to be put down! Don’t put me down! I-I don’t want to be evil, please don’t do this!” I sobbed, I didn’t want this, I didn’t want to be put down! I’d begged for it but I didn’t want to be put down. I was a monster, but I didn’t want to be anymore! I wanted to go home.

“Oh Sherlock, we’re not... we’re not putting you down. We’re going to help you, I promise, we’re going to help you. We’ll explain everything, we just need you to calm down and listen to us.” John whispered, tearing up. Why was he tearing up?! I didn’t... tearing up didn’t make sense! _He’s crying because you’re going to die!_ But he just said I wasn't! John didn’t lie!

“William, you can trust us to tell you the truth. There is no call for your death, there never has been. We’re looking into keeping you safe and getting you better so you don’t feel like this. Just listen and we will tell you everything.” Mycroft didn’t sound like he was lying, but he never did. _He’s always lying! He’s Mycroft, he lies all the time! You are going to die today!_

“Y-You’re lying! You’re lying!” I couldn’t trust Mycroft, couldn’t trust anybody! They knew, they all knew, they knew I was evil. They wouldn’t let me continue living!

“Am I? Read it Sherlock, deduce me and see what clues there are as to what’s going on.” Mycroft spread his arms wide, opening his whole self out for me to read.

“You... You haven’t been at your desk all day. B-But you have been on the phone. You’ve been to 221b too. Why did you go to 221b?” I didn’t... why had he been to 221b?

“To get you a few things William. Your favourite things, like your skull and clothes. I’ve had them brought here to my house so you’ve got home comforts while you recover from your ordeals. I wouldn’t have bothered if there was a death order on you, would I?” Mycroft answered.

“He was, I was there too to help. And anyway, would I really let him get away with doing anything bad to you? Or Mrs Hudson for that matter? She’s got a nasty swing on her with that frying pan you know.” John joked; I felt something in my chest loosen.

“I don’t... I don’t understand.” I didn’t understand what was going on, why weren’t they killing me? Why wasn't Mycroft signing my death order? What was actually happening right now?! _Putting you into a false sense of security._

“Well that’s why we’re here, to explain it to you, if you’ll let us.” John smiled, holding out his hand for me.

“But... But I hurt you.” I gave him a concussion, thought he was... I’d _hurt_ him, caused blood to come out of his head, caused a concussion.

“I’ve suffered worse by far worse people for far worse reasons.” John shrugged, still smiling a bit.

“You... You overheard, a-at the crime scene.” He’d heard everything, he’d heard, and then I’d hurt him! That didn’t warrant nice actions in return!

“All I heard was Donovan and Anderson being their usual dickhead selves. I’d rather poke an eye out than listen to their unsupported theories.” John encouraged, hand still out to me, despite the fact that I couldn’t take it, for more than one reason.

“I-I’m evil... A monster, a psychopath. I’m going to hurt you again.” John had to understand, _I was evil,_ he _shouldn’t_ have been anywhere near me. I’d hurt him again and again until I killed him.

“You’re wrong again there. I’d say you were more my best friend, who’s got a few issues that need sorting out, that’s all. So... Whatya say? Fancy coming and talking this out, instead of all of us standing here in a corridor like lemons?” John continued to smile, “You don’t have to touch me if you don’t want to. If it makes you feel better, you can keep a bit of a distance. But just so you know, I’m not going anywhere, neither is Mycroft. We just want to talk, that’s all. Are you up to it?”

_You’re still probably going to prison you know. They still know what you’ve done; you’re going to go to prison. If they aren’t firing the gun, someone in prison will._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments, they do mean a lot!


	111. Chapter 111

110 Sherlock's POV

Slowly, ever so slowly, I followed John and Mycroft back to the room we’d originally been in, keeping a few meters distance between us as well as the guards behind me. I didn’t want to risk _anything_ right now, I could feel my chest constrict and panic filling my veins. If I wasn't careful, I could do anything, I’d almost lashed out again. If Mycroft’s guards hadn’t have been holding me back, I’d have hurt either him or John, and I _couldn’t_ do that. Mycroft was telling the truth about not putting me down, but I doubted that would last if I didn’t behave myself. So I was taking precaution, staying away, not even looking at either of them, breathing slowly and evenly, forcing calm. Or at least what counted as calm in my world.

“Take a seat Sherlock; we may be talking for a while.” Mycroft waved a hand at the bed, two chairs next to it.

“No... I’m staying here.” I curled myself up in a corner, as far away as possible. _Don’t risk it, don’t risk anything. You’re on thin ice, don’t make things worse for yourself and get that ‘staying alive’ option rescinded._

“If that is what you wish.” Mycroft sighed, taking a seat. John hesitated, but sat next to him. I all of a sudden felt like I was ten again, while Mummy and Daddy shouted at me for doing something wrong. _Well you have done a lot wrong as of late._

“I’m sure it has not escaped your notice, but things have not been going well for you as of late.” Mycroft started, _he can say that again,_ “And after today’s meltdown, I’ve decided to take action and give you the treatment you need before this escalates even further.” _Here we go, high security facility for psychopaths. Ever think you’ll see the light of day again?_

“Where... Where am I going this time?” I hugged my knees, unable to look at him. I didn’t want to look at him or John and see the disappointment on their faces. Or the fear of me. Or any of it. I’d screwed up, far worse than usual; I didn’t want to see the effects of that.

“That, brother dear is up to you. I have found several facilities I think you will find to your liking.” Mycroft nodded to one of the guards, he handed me several files.

“There are three to choose from, all equipped with the best facilities and therapists specialised for the issues you are experiencing. Read them through and ask any questions you wish.” Mycroft continued, I opened the first folder... _that was a familiar building._

“This... This is your house... Why is your house on here? A-Are we not at your house right now?” _Of course we’re not, there’s a reconstruction of 221b in the middle of it!_

“We are, we’re specifically in the north wing, a wing I have currently dedicated to your comfort, if this is where you choose to reside.” Mycroft answered... I didn’t understand.

“What he means Sherlock, is that if you choose, you can stay at Mycroft’s. He’s shown me round this wing, and it’s really nice. The layout is similar to 221b, and there’s an added workout room to help with the... well the aggression problems,” I winced at that, “And a science lab with all the equipment you could ever want.” John explained... All that was here?

“Of course I can set something similar up in either of the other facilities for you, or sort out a system to get you to a lab at the least.” Mycroft added, where they serious right now?

“There... You built 221b in your home?” I couldn’t... What the _hell_ happened to Mycroft? _You turned psycho, he got scared, now he’s trying to keep you happy._ But Mycroft wasn't scared of anything, and he didn’t care about me, only his reputation. He didn’t care about me, though; he _had_ done all of this. _Creating an environment to keep you quiet and out of the way, while still watching you then._

“I had a spare wing that was only gathering dust. I put it to a better use.” Mycroft shrugged, admiring his umbrella.

“Meaning that we want you to get better, and in the nicest environment possible. We can’t currently put you back in 221b because of... well Mrs Hudson and everything.” _Meaning you **will** hurt her if you stay there, here you’ll only get a fight against a better fighter than you, _“And Mycroft’s had this contingency plan for years, so we figured it would be nice to put it to use.” John smiled again, again with the smiling, why did he keep on smiling at me?! _Doctor bedside manner. It means **nothing** about you and his feelings towards you right now. _

“I...” I didn’t know what to say, there was nothing to say in a situation like this. I hadn’t even known that this was here, after years of breaking into the house for fun, I’d never known that this was here.

“Yes Sherlock, if you’re going to make me say it, I do actually care about you. You are my little brother and it is... _troubling_ to see you in emotional pain. Here is my attempt of rectifying the situation.” Mycroft scowled, like the words tasted like dirt. _Liar._ Then why would he make all this for me then?!

“The... The other facilities... What are they like?” I changed the subject, scared to live in the awkward conversation of Mycroft _caring_ about me.

“Similar to the previous five you’ve stayed in. Appointments with therapists every day, no group therapy because other patients annoy you and you generally make them cry. Gym facilities, nice grounds to walk around and investigate, huge libraries, small labs I can get set up if you wish. Visiting and phone call privileges, and I can provide cars for anybody to come and see you if that is what you wish. No uniforms either, and food that you will actually eat.” Mycroft explained.

“A-And here?” I wanted to stay here right now. There was an essence of 221b here; I could possibly have some of my things, like my skull. Facilities always took my things, only gave me my violin when I ‘earned’ it and always thought the skull was a part of whatever mental disorder they were diagnosing me with this time.

“Access to my library, and generally the whole house as long as you don’t trash it.” I got a small _look_ for that, “Basically, the same as in a facility. Just you’ll be somewhere that looks like 221b and there are no patients around to moan about the violin at three am in the morning. And if you’re worrying about having your violin and skull, again I can make sure that they both stay with you and aren’t restricted anywhere you go.” Mycroft promised, “Oh, and I’ve already talked to every therapist who will be in contact with you in whatever facility, they will be working with your neuroatypicalities, not diagnosing you with anything further than the conditions they are there to treat.” He continued.

“They won’t try and change all of me?” I watched Mycroft nod. _Just to stop them diagnosing you as a psychopath instead of being on the Autistic Spectrum._

“Are there any other questions?” John asked, I dared to look at him; he looked vaguely confused at the previous part of the conversation, but mostly okay.

“I... I’m not going to be allowed to leave wherever I go, will I?” Day trips or for the rest of my life being my guess.

“We can organise day trips once you’re feeling a bit better yeah. No crime scenes though, not until we’re sure.” John nodded, was he _serious_ right now? 

“Really?” I couldn’t possibly be allowed outside, and for things _other than crime scenes._

“Yeah of course. I wouldn’t dare let you stagnate inside a building without a few times out! Even with all the books and experiments in the world, you’re going to get bored eventually.” John smiled, “Though on the case front, Greg has promised to bring along files if you want to look at them. He’ll no doubt have a few case files he’ll need looking over at some point.”

“And Miss Hooper is more than willing to bring along any body parts you wish to play with too. I can supply the chemicals.” Mycroft added.

This was... This all seemed like a dream, this was _happening,_ was I really getting all of this?!

“You’re... You’re serious about this?” I had to make sure, that this wasn't a lie.

“Hey, no lies rule, remember? That’s standing for the rest of time as far as I’m concerned.” John held his hands up in innocence.

“So, do you have any preferences to where you’d like to go? I’ll have to sort out movers and such, and I do have a country to run too.” Mycroft hurried us along.

“Here! I want to stay here!” I’d had enough of facilities, I wanted to stay here! There were parts of 221b here, I was closer to home itself, I wanted to stay at Mycroft’s!

“Very well, I shall get your things moved into this room and call your new therapist. They’ll be arriving soon.” Mycroft got up and left the room.

Had that all just happened?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is a little wordy, but I wasn't quite sure how else to put it I'm afraid!  
> Also, if anyone is interested, I just uploaded a vlog from my day at the Harry Potter Studio Tour here - https://www.youtube.com/user/mydreamsofwriting


	112. Chapter 112

111 John's POV

“I must get back to my office, there’s paperwork to do and China is... Well you don’t want to know about China right now.” Mycroft stood and left the room, leaving me and Sherlock alone.

Awkward silence dropped into the room like a blanket, feeling almost suffocating. What did I say now? Did I say anything at all? I didn’t want to leave Sherlock alone right now,  he was fragile, but what did I say to a man who had begged me to kill him and then to _not_ kill him in the space of a few hours? What did I do when the small figure of my best friend was huddled up in a corner, unable to look in my direction? Technically, me and Mycroft had just sectioned him, even though it was an unconventional version of sectioning someone. Was there really anything to say to that? I had to try and say something, show Sherlock that we could still talk to each other...

“So...” I started, unsure of how to go on. Mention the graveyard or not? Bring up the painful memories fresh in both of our minds or talk about neutral topic? _Was_ there a neutral topic?

“Is there anything you’re confused about? As in treatment wise, I’m not a therapist but I have a pretty good idea about treatment for this type of thing.” I suggested, not exactly a neutral topic, but better than silence.

“I... I don’t think so.” Sherlock shook his head, “A-About earlier though, I... I’m sorry you had to see that, I-I didn’t mean to scare you or anything. I... I’m not myself, obviously.” He winced at the end, pushing a hand against his ear, tapping his patterns against his head. For a second I wondered where the habit had come from, but decided against asking, thinking it wouldn’t be a good thing to ask about.

“Hey, no need for the apologies right now. I know you’re not yourself and that you didn’t mean to scare anybody, you were doing what felt right at the time, as a fear reaction. I can’t fault that.” I waved him off, Sherlock didn’t need to apologise to me. He wasn’t well; I couldn’t fault his actions while he wasn't well.

“I... I still hurt you though, I hurt you and that’s not okay. You’ve got a concussion, there was _blood,_ and I caused it. I-”

“Sherlock,” I cut him off, “its okay, you were incredibly scared. Donovan, Anderson and all of the other moronic twats at Scotland Yard were being absolute dickheads to you, jumping to conclusions that we _know_ aren’t true. You reacted strongly, basing your actions on instincts you’ve built up by past experiences. There’s nothing wrong with that. The concussion is mild; I barely even have a headache, let alone anything else. It’s all fine.” I smiled, leaning forward in my chair, the closest I dared to get near him.

Not out of fear though, if I could, I would have gone straight to Sherlock and hugged him tight, stopped him looking so damn _small_ and _scared._ The look on his face during most of our talks with Mycroft had looked like we’d given him a death sentence, and we’d given him a life line by allowing him to have his own things and a choice on where he went. I wanted to hold him close and promise that this wasn't a death sentence, literally or metaphorically, that this was just until Sherlock got better. Just until he gained some control and could cope better, nothing more.

But I daren’t go over right now, not after the panic I caused by touching him earlier. I wasn't going to invade his personal space unless I was _sure_ that Sherlock wanted it, or could at least handle it. It hurt to leave him there, but it was for the best in the end.

“Hey, how about I show you some of things we’ve brought from Baker Street?” I asked, unsure if Sherlock knew of all the things we’d brought over. We hadn’t exactly ransacked Baker Street, but it certainly didn’t look very _Sherlock_ right now to say the least.

“Where is everything?” Sherlock asked, continuing to not look at me. Was he really so scared to make eye contact right now? Was he really _that_ scared to look at me? He must have been, and that idea scared me.

“This wing’s front room. It’s all currently in a very neat pile of boxes and clothing bags. I didn’t let Mycroft put it all away; he’d probably have put it away wrong.” I tried joking; remembering back to every time Sherlock complained that his brother had moved something in the flat. He’d hated it with a passion, there had been an order to things in Sherlock’s mind, and I’d thought he’d find it calming to put it all away himself, exactly where he wanted. I’d thought that maybe, if Sherlock could put things how he wanted them in his order, it would bring order to his mind, or at least give him a sense of normal; possibly give him an idea of calm again. God knew he needed something calming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comment/kudos! :D   
> Also, if anyone has any questions about this fic, or wants to discuss anything about it, I am always up for a discussion about it! So if there is anything, please feel free to drop me a message!


	113. Chapter 113

112 Sherlock's POV

“I... I’ll put it away later. The, the therapist will be coming soon.” I didn’t want to risk getting up right now; I didn’t want to cut the distance between me and John. _Liar._ No it was true! I didn’t want to get closer to him, didn’t want to get too close. _Then why are you desperate to go to him?_ Because I wanted to hug him at the same time!

I wanted to run into John’s arms and hold him close, apologise a thousand times over for hurting him and causing all of this. I wanted to hug him and thank him for staying to help sort me out here. I wanted to hide in his arms and have him hold me close until I didn’t feel like I did right now. Inside, I felt so scared; I didn’t know what was going to happen now, not really. The only things I knew right now were that I had some things here in the recreation of 221b, and that I would be staying here for the foreseeable future. Other than that, I didn’t know a thing. Now that I’d made the decision to stay here, everything was uncertain.

What kind of medications was I going to be forced into taking now? How much of my brain function was I set to lose because of the medications? What was John going to find out about me now? _And that’s if it’s not just decided to leave you sedated for the greater good of the entire human population._ I didn’t know what was going to happen now, and that was _terrifying._

“You sure?” John asked, he seemed surprised at the idea that I didn’t want to unpack and move things to where they should be. And I did want to; this room looked too _empty_ without my things inside. My fingers twitched to unpack everything and get it all in order. But I couldn’t move, I couldn’t risk John again. I didn’t want to be a threat to my friend, not anymore. _Oh you admit to wanting to hurt him in the past!_ No! No that’s not what I meant! I meant, I meant... Oh I didn’t know what I meant anymore. My head hurt, I wanted everything to go quiet for a little while, I was so tired, so damn tired. _Well give it a little while longer and there’ll be a very nice doctor round with a big needle filled with all the best drugs. You’ll barely be able to move with it all, won’t that be lovely?_

“Don’t want to be interrupted by the therapist.” I could barely spit the word out, scared about what they’d say, what they’d do.

Mycroft had promised me that they wouldn’t decide that I wasn't on the autistic spectrum this time, but what _would_ they say about me? I didn’t want to even think about what kind of things they could say about me now.

_Violent sociopath. Murderous **psychopath.** Under no circumstances to be allowed outside the walls of the building or to be allowed near other human beings unless heavily guarded and at least partially sedated. Best course of action for the broken machine is to put it down and deactivate it. _Oh _God_ no.

“I’m going to check to see when the therapist is supposed to be arriving. I’ll be back in a minute.” John practically ran out of the room, leaving me completely by myself.

_Congratulations, you’ve scared John off and probably got a therapist coming even quicker. Better start preparing to make a good impression, maybe if you’re lucky you’ll hold off the psychopath diagnosis._ With a sigh, I heaved myself upright and dragged myself to the mirror on the wardrobe, straightening out my suit so it didn’t look like a creased up mess. _Mummy always said that you had to look your best when there were guests coming over. Nice shirt, trousers, socks and shoes too, hair combed. Be polite and respectful; let the guest do the talking, try to not make them feel like an idiot._

Well, hair couldn’t be combed right now and would look a mess either way; the suit looked terrible even after straightening it out and God knew how the conversation was going to go. _Especially when they tell you just what exactly your treatment plan entails. You’re going to freak out.... Hmm, do you think Mycroft had a padded isolation room fitted somewhere in here? Or has any straps ready to restrain you against the bed?_ STOP. TALKING. NOW.

“Everything okay there Sherlock?” Somebody asked with a knock at the door.

I whirled round to find John in the doorway, standing next to a woman. She was of average height, average build, in her mid-thirties, had been in this profession for ten years, specialised in PTSD cases. She had several dogs, all some sort of retriever, from puppies to dogs in their last years of life. _Ah, the therapist. Let’s see just how long this lasts and who cries first. You or her?_

“Sorry, I should have introduced myself, I’m Doctor Hardwick; I’ll be your therapist while you’re here if that’s alright with you.” The woman introduced herself, she looked competent enough.

“I guess.” I sighed; it wasn't like I had a choice in who I wanted to treat me.

“Good, I understand you’re a bit worried right now. Is there anything I can do to dissuade those fears?” Doctor Hardwick asked, stepping through the doorway, yet not stepping too close.

_Not medicate you to the point where you can’t think? Not say you’re a psychopath? Don’t be like every therapist you’ve ever had?_

“Er,” I didn’t know what to say, there were _so many_ fears, but I couldn’t say half of them. Not without giving anything away and wrecking any chance or having some idea of _normal_ life.

“How about if I give you an idea on how this is going to work first, see if that answers anything?” Doctor Hardwick suggested, somehow managing to not sound condescending... That was new. _Just wait for it; she’ll start talking to you like you’re a child in a minute._

“I should leave you to it... I’ll be in the front room.” John turned and left the room. _Too awkward to stay, he wants to remain in denial about how broken you are._

That left me and this therapist by ourselves, she looking at me with apprehension, me looking at her in a desperate attempt to read what she was going to do to me this time, what fresh hell could be cooked up for me for this latest mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kudos/comments! :D  
> Also in regards to the original stuff I was talking about a few days ago, I've written the first on shot, and I'm hopefully going to get my best friend to check it out, and then I'll be uploading it, I'll let you know when it's up!


	114. Chapter 114

113 Mycroft’s POV

As I started signing all the necessary paperwork to deal with Sherlock’s treatments, I thought over the reasons to why we were here in the first place, and it was not painting a pretty picture. There had been many faults from many fields, from John for not being accepting of my brother when he first returned, to Moriarty for starting this whole mess.

But the main problem, the main cause of my baby brother’s breakdown, was me. I’d caused nearly all of this, could have almost completely prevented it if I’d just _listened_ to Sherlock, thought past my own need to control everything and actually considered _Sherlock_ in this. I should have given him a therapist from the minute he came back, should have given him opportunities to talk to me as well. I should have acted faster with John, gotten him back with Sherlock sooner, and hadn’t put him in a choke hold on what they could have discussed. If I’d just listened to Sherlock and showed him that I loved him, that I cared, and let him choose his own way through this so much could have been prevented.

I’d only tried to control things so much because that was what I had always done. I’d never left Mummy or Daddy to look after Sherlock, they’d never understood him properly, I thought that I understood him more than they did. In my mind, I’d understood what triggered him to panic, what scared him, what he was feeling, and had thought I knew how to prevent it all. But I was wrong, I’d been _so wrong_ in those thoughts. This wasn't some drugs bender, this was PTSD, caused by the horrors I’d sent my brother into, stupidly thinking he’d come out the other end okay. He’d always pulled through in the past, this time I’d broken him. I’d broken my little brother, all because I wanted to control and didn’t know how to express concern like a normal person.

I swore that I was going to stop interfering so much, only to get involved when it was absolutely necessary, and then I was going to listen to Sherlock, take him into consideration for once. I wasn't going to pretend I knew everything, because I clearly didn’t.

“Sir, is there anything I can do to help here?” Anthea asked, Blackberry pocketed.

“No, no. Nothing at the moment.” I looked over to the monitors in Sherlock’s wing (couldn’t help but oversee a _little_ still) to see him fidgeting by the window. Doctor Hardwick was talking to him from a chair, explaining her plan for therapy (talking, lots of talking. Some medications, mostly to help him sleep and calm him down. Possibility for other therapies too if needs be. No stone left unturned). But Sherlock didn’t look all too happy. Not like he about to have a violent outburst mind, however he still didn’t look all too comfortable. More like he needed a crutch to hold onto, to keep him safe.

“Actually, can you find Sherlock’s skull for him, and his weighted blanket? I think he’s in need of some comfort with now.” I changed my mind. I had been expecting Sherlock to have unpacked by now, it looked like he hadn’t though, so he was still stuck in a scary situation without a crutch to hold onto.

 It wouldn’t be so bad if I gave him two comforting objects, would it? It wasn't like I was telling him to stop being stupid and calm down. I was trying to help him, so he could listen properly, could understand for himself what was going to happen. For all Sherlock’s huge intellect, he sometimes didn’t take in what was going to happen to him while he was stressed; I was just trying to help him out now without interfering too much.

But now was I doing this right? It felt so foreign to be completely removed from this meeting, to not be overseeing it and pointing out flaws or things that wouldn’t work with Sherlock. I was letting him do all the talking and the discussing, it felt _wrong._ It felt like I should have been there. If I was though, there was no doubt I’d take over again. I was taking a step back, a proper step back, letting Sherlock do as he wanted.

I couldn’t help but feel like that was a grave error to make.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comment/kudos, this chapter is only short, but I felt that was best for a Mycroft POV at this point in time. Also, a massive thank you to my beta reader Nita, for betaing 5 chapters over the past couple of days and still accepting more!   
> And a quite self promo as well, if anybody needs/knows anybody who needs their work proof read, about me pages written, or any short writing work for their business, I'm doing work on anything like that for a small price here - http://www.peopleperhour.com/freelancer/rebecca/proof-reader/989943 - so if you know anybody who has anything like that which needs doing, please do send them my way, it would mean a lot!


	115. Chapter 115

114 Sherlock's POV

“Basically, with your treatment, I want to hold daily therapy sessions to get to the root of your problems and figure out how this has all happened to you. I’ve been given high clearance from your brother to discuss what you did over your two years away, so there’s no red tape there stopping you from saying anything.” _Shit._ “Alongside this, I want to give you some medications to help you sleep, as well others to help with your anxiety issues. But before you start to protest this, I will happily explain the possible effects of each medication and am very willing to listen to your thoughts on the medications, and anything else about treatment. The minute you don’t like something, say the meds stop you thinking like you need, I’ll change them to a more appropriate drug to help.” Doctor Hardwick explained, not sounding _too_ condescending.

“I’m also willing to discuss other treatment methods too; I’m trained in many methods of therapy and can call in other specialists if needed. So there’s no need for you to be scared of being restricted or forced into something you don’t want to do. Your brother has told me you’ve been scarred in the past by previous therapies for other problems, so I understand your hesitance completely. But I want to work _with_ you, not against you; my goal is to help you gain your life back in a safe way. Does that sound like an agreeable plan to you?” She continued, _she’s LYING, she’s going to drug you and lock you up and never listen to a word you say!_

“Possibly. Depends on a lot of things.” I didn’t want to give in easily; I wanted to be _sure_ things were going to go well here. Not another repeat of previous institutions, nothing like that ever again.

“Like what?” Doctor Hardwick seemed open enough to questions... _she isn’t. She’ll hear one thing and laugh in your face at your stupidity at even asking about it. You’re going to be put through hell._

“What... How will...” I didn’t know how to word anything. I felt so adrift here, with no idea on how to work this situation out. Too much had happened today, my heart was _pounding,_ I couldn’t even think straight right now. I wanted to curl up in the bed and hide for a few hours, calm down for a little while.

“Oh Sherlock, your skull and blanket have arrived, would you like them right now?” Doctor Hardwick asked, looking behind her. Anthea was holding the weighted blanket and skull in her arms; oh thank _God_ they had been brought over. _You can’t use them. You’re in front of a **psychiatrist,** how mental will you be thought of if you cover yourself in a blanket like a **child** and hold onto a human skull? _

“You can have them Sherlock, whatever makes you comfortable.” Doctor Hardwick nodded me along.

“Yes, please.” I reached out for them; _you’ll hurt Anthea,_ “Wait. Can you... I don’t want to...” I didn’t want to hurt Anthea by going too close. But I wanted my blanket, I _needed_ the weight, needed the pressure. It was so calming, so damn calming. I needed calm right now.

“I trust you Sherlock, its fine.” Anthea shook it off, coming dangerously close and placing the objects on the desk beside me before turning and leaving again. I breathed a sigh of relief as she left, no violence triggers, no-one hurt. _Lucky shot._

I tried not to rush over and wrap the blanket around my shoulders, practically sinking to the floor as dopamine flooded my brain and relaxed my muscles. Better, so much better. **Heaven.** _Yeah right, you’re not going anywhere near that place._

“Sherlock, would it be easier if you told the skull your questions?” Doctor Hardwick asked, _she thinks you’re a child._

“No, I can, I can manage.” I shook my head, running my thumbs across the skull’s eye sockets.

“Alright... Does he have a name?” She continued, _classic bond-building technique._

“No.” _That’s it, be difficult. Not like you’re relying on this woman to fix you._

“The file your brother gave me said he’s called Billy.” She answered, _she’s spoken to Mycroft, she knows **everything!** Nothing you say is going to matter anymore, only his word ever counts for anything! _

“Don’t believe everything Mycroft says. He doesn’t understand everything.” I mumbled, not looking at her anymore. I didn’t like how she had spoken to Mycroft, he’d told her about _Billy,_ or at least he’d made a file with Billy in it. What other little secrets had he told her? What else did she know about me, the things that no-one was supposed to know about? _Well she obviously knows what happened while you were playing hide and seek, and about your previous stints in rehab. That’s damn private; she probably knows your whole life story._

“Of course he doesn’t.” I looked up at that. “He’s clever, but he doesn’t understand you properly, does he? He thinks that immediate solution to anything going slightly warped in that brain of yours should be immediately medicated and suppressed. Even if when you’re just trying to cope your own way.”

“You’ve been paying attention to the past couple of months then.” Even someone like Anderson could see that if they observed enough.

“No, just talked to him for a few minutes.” Doctor Hardwick smiled, I fought one down, _don’t let her think she’s getting through to you, stay strong, don’t let her in,_ “I also know that he micromanages everything out of a place of love. Mycroft does love you Sherlock, he really does, he just struggles to show it in the right way. He wants you better, just like all of us, do you believe that?”

“If you insist. I haven’t seen the evidence of it.” I rolled my eyes, “Can we stop talking about my brother now? It’s weird.” _Because he doesn’t even like you and everybody knows it. Mycroft is just protecting his reputation, as per usual._

“If you want to, though I’d like to talk about him in later sessions when you’re up to it.” Hardwick replied, “So, any questions?” She finished.

“No. Do your worst with me, see if you can fix whatever is going on in my head, it’s not like I have a choice in the matter.” I’d picked my fate; I wasn't talking or insulting my way out of it. So I may as well have sucked it up and gotten on with it, _say hello to being catatonic on medications!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all again for the comments/kudos! :D   
> If anybody is interested, I've started posting some original work on wattpad too, so here's the link if you want to check that out - http://t.co/hEizQYDrHO


	116. Chapter 116

115 Sherlock's POV

“I’ll do my best with you actually, not my worst. Now would you like to save our first chat until tomorrow and have a rest for now, or would you like to start now?” Doctor Hardwick asked.

“What... What would this first session be about?” If it wasn't too heavy, I could manage, even though I was exhausted. _Not like you’ll sleep either way._

“For a first session, I’d like to start easy and just set out a routine, so everybody knows what’s going on. I’d like to get to know you a little better too, nothing too personal, just a few things, like the things that usually help you keep calm. It helps me to know important things like that before we begin any real treatment, so I know when I need to stop and take a break, and how exactly I can help you feel safe.” Hardwick explained, _she’s getting personal a bit quick._ But it would only be the important stuff; I didn’t see any signs of malicious intent.

“O-Okay.” I agreed, pulling myself further into my blanket.

“Great. Shall we start easy with a suggestion of a routine? I’d like to keep to a similar sort of timing as a clinic, but because you’re at home, we can have a bit of flexibility. I know you like to do things as and when you like, but at the very least I want us to have a set time for therapy.” Hardwick continued, “Is there a time you’d prefer for the session?”

_Half past never._ “Midday?” I didn’t care _when_ therapy was, it was tedious and a waste of time no matter what time. And I never really cared for working out what time of day it was, I didn’t work to normal day hours.

“Great, I shall make our appointment time for around twelve midday. I’m only looking after you right now so we can change it freely if you ever need to. Is there any certain time you’d like visitors to come along? Or anything you’d like to do at certain times?” Hardwick scribbled down the notes.

“Why?” I didn’t see why that would be necessary.

“Because routines are very important in the recovery process, it gives you a sense of stability, so you can rely on certain things happening at certain times. Coming back from having such a huge mission it can be difficult to adjust again, and you can’t deny you’ve had a tough time adjusting. So a routine, even if it’s just a set time for appointments with me and a set time for visitors, will _really_ improve your well being.” _Is she talking to the PTSD patient or the Aspergers boy?_

“Are you talking to the PTSD part of me or the sociopath?” Better not say about the Aspergers, I wasn't exactly proud of it.

“We both know you’re not a sociopath.” Hardwick looked at me like I was adorable child denying they were sleepy. I was not a bloody child!

“Whatever.” I wasn't denying it, she knew damn well that I was on the autistic spectrum; we didn’t have to talk about it now.

“We’ll come back to that later. And the routine helps _both_ of your conditions. So what do you say, is there anything else you’d like as part of your routine?” Hardwick fixed me with a hard stare. It almost made me want to crawl into a hole and never come back out. _You’ve angered her now, you’re screwed._

“No. Anyone who wants to visit can turn up whenever they like, and I don’t like anything else to be predictable.” I liked surprises, I liked being on my toes. Routines were _boring._

“Okay then. I’ll note that too.” _Look at her face; she’s thinking you’re weird. Every other person with Aspergers likes routines, you throw too many curveballs._

“Alright then, I’d like to give you a set bedtime either way, but I’ve been told that you’ve found sleeping boring, and never slept around the same time as anyone else. That’s fine by me, but I’d still like for you to have several hours of sleep a day. It will greatly help you along, even though sleeping is difficult.” Hardwick advised, _lecturing. She’s lecturing you about proper care of yourself after an hour. An **hour.** How long do you think it’ll be before she starts micromanaging everything, changing who you are? She will **change** you, make you into somebody different, somebody **normal** just like all the other therapists tried to do. Won’t that make Mummy proud? _

“I don’t sleep.” I didn’t, not usually.

“Now, or before you left on your two year mission?” She asked.

“Before. Ask anybody, I don’t sleep. I don’t need it.” I made her smile a little.

“Everyone needs sleep Sherlock, they need it to rest and function.” Hardwick seemed to have a thought, _oh no._ “Sherlock, when you do have a rest, what is it like?” what kind of question was that?! _A question trying to get answers out of you. Tough answers. She’s already trying to manipulate you into giving her answers._

“The same as anybody else. Darkness and occasional dreams that are forgotten within minutes of waking.” I wasn't answering that one truthfully, no way.

“Even now?” I got the same stare again.

“Yes. Its fine, I’m not so damn broken I can’t sleep.” _Liar, liar, pants on fire!_

“Sherlock, I think you’re lying to me.” Hardwick sighed, _here we go. Now her true colours are coming through._

“Why would I do that?” I glared back at her.

“I don’t know, maybe because you don’t want to admit you’re not sleeping well, maybe you just want to be confrontational, I get the feeling that you like to be difficult on purpose.” _Well she figured you out quickly._

“Maybe I _like_ arguing.” _Only because then you know just exactly why a person hates you, instead of behaving as nicely as possible and not having a clue why that person hates you._

“Proving you’re clever, am I right?” I gave her a shrug; it was none of her business. _None_ of this was her business. What did it matter to her if I slept properly? What right did she have to poke her nose in and make assumptions? _She’s your therapist, you’re the sectioned psychopath. That’s what right she has._

“Alleviate boredom.” I shot back.

“Get bored easily? Start experimenting, playing with chemicals, watching stuff blow up?” Hardwick listed off, leaning forward.

“Don’t forget about the violin.” I added with a smirk.

“Not done any of that much lately, have you? Been busy trying not to screw up or piss anyone off. Be that perfect little detective and not let them see you’ve felt terrified of everything ever since you’ve come back.” She said what now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments and all the kudos, means a lot!


	117. Chapter 117

116 Sherlock's POV

“I... I’m not _terrified_ of anything!” I defended myself, because I _wasn't_ damn it! I was Sherlock Holmes, I didn’t even get _scared,_ let alone terrified! Who did this woman think she was suggesting that?! And what was Mycroft thinking in hiring her?! I wasn't terrified! What a stupid notion! _Of course it’s a stupid notion, that’s why you’ve been running scared around London for two days is it?_ That was different! That was... that was self preservation. _Sure it was. And I’m not a voice inside your head._

“Everyone is scared of something Sherlock, and you’ve been through hell these past few years, there’s lots to be scared of, and lots to get used to... Things like flashbacks, and nightmares, your old routine when everything seems so off kilter, though nobody else notices, not _really._ Sure they know something’s up with you, but they can’t put their fingers on it, can they?”

“Shut up!”

“They try their best, but they’re nowhere near knowing what’s going on inside your head. And you can’t explain it either, because that would be admitting to something being wrong in the first place, and you can’t have that, because they won’t see you as you anymore. They’ll see you as what? A dumb kid? Weak and incapable of doing things for himself? Unable to do your job?”

“I said shut up! You don’t know what you’re talking about! You’re all wrong! I am _fine,_ alright? I’m fine! Sure I got a bit heated up a few times, but I’m fine! I don’t get scared, I don’t have flashbacks, I don’t have nightmares! The only thing that’s off kilter is the fact that nobody trusts me to look after myself!” I shouted, throwing the blanket off my shoulders and shaking with rage.

_Ohhhh going to hit her? Going to attack her with all your strength and run away? Nice way to prove to everyone you’re a psychopath. Real classy._ STOP TALKING! I was not going to hit anybody! I wasn't going to damn well _attack_ someone again! For God’s sake I had _some_ control! _Not enough control to stop you attacking Lestrade and John!_ That wasn't fair, I was stressed! _Like now!_ SHUT UP!

“Whoa there, its okay Sherlock, we can stop here if you want. I shouldn’t have pushed so soon, I’m sorry. We don’t have to talk about any of that right now.” Doctor Hardwick put her hands up in innocence. _She knows you were about to hurt her._

“Sorry, sorry. I... I’m not... I’m not scared.” I sunk to the floor again, sitting on my hands in some pathetic attempt to control myself. _Idiot. You’re going to hurt everyone you’ve ever encountered; sitting on your hands is going to do nothing for you. Carry on like this and they’ll have no choice but to put you down._

“If you say so Sherlock, if you say so.” Hardwick gave me a condescending smile, it made my skin crawl, “I think we’ve had enough for the day though, don’t you? You’ve had a very long and trying day, I think it’s best if you try and settle yourself in a bit and calm down. I’m going to leave most of the medication talk until tomorrow, but tonight, I would really like you to take a sleeping aid. It’ll really help you sleep tonight so you can be refreshed and calm for tomorrow, so we can have a better talk. Will you take it for me?” Hardwick stood, sounding like a lecturer. Or that therapist I’d had as a child. I shuddered at the thought, refusing to answer. I was _not_ taking a damn sleeping pill, who knew what they’d put in it, or what would happen. I wasn't going to allow my brain to slow down for a minute, I didn’t want to sleep, I didn’t want any of it. I was going to carry on just fine, I wasn't giving in. Not to this, not to more damn medication that reduced me to _nothing._

“Just think about it for me Sherlock. It’ll really help you to do as I ask, just for tonight, we’ll talk more tomorrow.” Hardwick turned and left.

As soon as the door, I felt like I could breathe again. _That’s because you now don’t have to control yourself. There’s nobody to hurt. You’re all alone now. It’s lonely, isn’t it? Sitting here, an empty room, only a skull for company. Remind you of prep school... and university... and all the flats before John?_

The room was only empty because my things weren’t in here yet! Once I put all my things away it would be fine, I’d be fine! I just needed to get my things, that was all! I was going to do that right now actually, I was going to go and get my things. Weren’t they all in the front room? I’d just go and get them, start unpacking and putting things in their rightful places. Yes, that was a good idea. I was going to unpack. I couldn’t do anything unless I had my things...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments/kudos!   
> Who's seen the clip of the Christmas special? It looks SO good, I'm so excited right now! :D


	118. Chapter 118

117 Mycroft’s POV

“John, if you’ll come with me a minute, Doctor Hardwick would like to speak to us quickly.” I got the doctor from the front room, where he’d been awkwardly sitting for the past hour and a half. From what I could tell, he’d mostly been checking to make sure everything that Sherlock needed was there for him, which was the most he could do right now.

“Done already? That was... That was quieter than I was expecting.” John brushed himself off as he got to his feet, wandering after me through to the corridor.

“There was some shouting towards the end when I touched a nerve, but nothing serious.” Doctor Hardwick answered for me. I hadn’t been able to resist having at least a small meeting between the three of us after Sherlock’s initial consultation, just to make sure everything was okay. Not interfering with the treatment, just making sure that it was right for Sherlock. Nothing wrong with that.

“Good, so what is your proposed plan for my brother?” I asked, leaning on my umbrella.

“Sherlock is going to be a tough case to crack; he’s incredibly defensive of his mind and what will happen to it. I can’t tell you much about our session as it is confidential, even from you Mr Holmes, but I can tell you that he will be well looked after. I think I can crack him and get him to open up. It will take time though, so please do not expect overnight results.” Doctor Hardwick explained, no signs of lying or trying to please me specifically, like all the other doctors I’d consulted about Sherlock had in the past.

“Of course not, we don’t expect overnight results. Just anything to help him will be greatly appreciated.” John smiled, arms crossed, subconsciously hugging himself. He was nervous about all of this. He was almost _scared._ Interesting...

“I shall try my hardest. Though can I recommend some things for Sherlock while I’m not here for his therapy? Just to keep him calm and occupied?” Doctor Hardwick now turned towards nervousness. Respecting of authority, just like I’d hoped, very good. And if what she said about Sherlock getting agitated and handling it, even better.

“Go ahead doctor.” I nodded to her.

“I think for today you should help him settle in. Unpack, things like that, it’ll help him settle down. Try to get him into bed tonight too, he was resistant to sleeping pills, but try to get him at least in bed. Then from then on, let him do what he wants within reason. He’s got to be in therapy with me at midday every day, but other than that, let him experiment and read, whatever he wants as long as it’s not causing agitation. I’d also recommend keeping security to a minimum around him,” Doctor Hardwick started.

“Security? What security?” John interrupted.

“Did you really think the guards were for my sake John? They’re here for Sherlock’s safety, as well as everybody else in the building. Sherlock is to be guarded at all times in case he becomes a danger to someone around him or tries to escape.” I explained, because _of course_ I put security on Sherlock. There was no way I was letting him wander freely after the past three violent phases. Lord knew how I would explain that to our parents at Christmas, but that was another matter for another day.

“They were very quick earlier; the guards were at the door within seconds of Sherlock shouting. He didn’t notice them in his panic, but they were straight there, and receded again when I gave them the signal as he calmed down.” Doctor Hardwick explained.

“Good, as you were saying.” I nodded for her to continue.

“Yes, I don’t think it’s a good idea to have the guards in the room with him all the time, I’d keep them at a distance to give him space. Even being emotionally trapped seems to trigger Sherlock off into a violent mood, which I’d like to keep to an absolute minimum. At the same time though, leaving him alone isn’t a good plan either. To me it seems that Sherlock craves company but doesn’t quite know how to handle it. So if you could try talking with him it would really help normalise being with people again. I see that there’s some games in those boxes, playing those with him will really help too. Anything like that will really be of use to Sherlock in the long run. If there’s anything else, I shall let you know as our sessions continue, but for now I need to get back to the office, we’re getting more dogs in soon so I need to help out with that.” Doctor Hardwick left me and John in the corridor.

“Dogs?” John muttered to himself in confusion, just as Sherlock turned round the corner.

My God, my brother looked like death.

He’d straightened himself out before Hardwick turned up, but he still looked like a mess, shirt creased, half in and half out his trousers. The curls he’d always styled to perfection were a mess on top of his head, dark bags still lining his eyes, starkly contrasting with his corpse white skin. He had his skull in his hand, though no sign of his weighted blanket. That was something I wasn't expecting if I was honest. Usually weighted blankets won over the need for other comfort objects in Sherlock’s hierarchy of comfort... _ah;_ he didn’t want John to see him carrying it with him. The skull was more normal, something everybody was used to seeing. It wouldn’t draw attention to him like a blanket would.

“Coming to unpack?” John jumped to talk first, kind smile firmly in place, though no attempt to get closer to Sherlock.

“Yes... I need to unpack; nothing is where it should be.” Sherlock answered, staying exactly where he was, half way down the corridor, looking at his bare feet.

“Yeah, sorry about that. We were going to unpack for you, but figured we’d get it all wrong.” John tried to laugh. It fell flat.

“T-Thanks... Can you, can you let me through?” Sherlock whispered, fingers tapping against the skull. Exact same orders as always. I’d yet to figure out the significance of that specific pattern but didn’t ask, it felt too personal to Sherlock, something he’d never share with me in fear I’d mock him for it. Sometimes I hated my younger self for alienating my brother like I had.

“Er, yeah sure. Need any help with moving stuff round? It’ll be heavy by yourself.” John moved backwards, I moved to the opposite wall to the door.

“No, no. I can manage by myself.” Sherlock winced, then paused, “You can... You can go home if you want. I-I... I’m not very good company, not right now.” He continued, sitting down in front of a box and looking through it, “He’ll back tomorrow.” He said after another wince, pushing a hand to his ear.

John looked at me for guidance on that one.

“There is a guest bedroom set up for you if you wish to use it. But I also have no problem with sending someone to pick you up in the morning if you so wish.” I gave him the option.

“I think I’ll stay if that’s alright with you. Maybe have a wander round; this place is like a maze, who knows what secrets of your brothers I can uncover. You know, be the one snooping for once.” John tried joking again; I let that one slide, as it made a corner of my brother’s mouth turn up for the flash of a second.

“Mycroft hid all the good stuff in a safe even I can’t find... _not going there, shut up!_ ” Sherlock hissed the last part, stopping his rummaging to hold his head. I wished I could make that voice in his head _stop,_ or at least overpower it so he wasn't talking to himself so much, hearing whatever horrible thoughts he was hearing.

“Alright, I’ll let you know if I find anything, see you at dinner maybe?” John sighed; he clearly had wanted Sherlock to either ask for help, or to come with him on his trip around my home. I refrained from telling him that that was a hopeless task right now.

“If you want.” Sherlock answered, pushing at his ear again. He looked so _small_ as he sorted through the boxes, so childlike and lost. He didn’t have a _clue_ on what to do; he wasn't even moving his things, just moving them absently like it would give us the idea that he was doing something productive.

“I’ve told the chef’s to make your favourites tonight Sherlock, so I expect you to be there.” I said instead, turning and leaving before I gave into the urge to hug my brother tight and apologise over and over for making him look like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments/kudos!  
> Just a reminder as well that I've got some original work on Wattpad that I'm hoping to update again soon, it's written under the username 'mydreamsofwriting' and the story is called 'The Powers That Be - Oneshots' :D


	119. Chapter 119

118 Sherlock's POV

John and Mycroft left, leaving me to sort out my things by myself. Well, as alone as I could be, what with the guards outside the door. _Watching and waiting, ready to take you down the second you go too far out of line._ As long as they didn’t touch my things right now, it was _fine._ They could stare all they liked. I just needed to get my things in order right now, everything was messy and out of place. The entire wing looked _wrong._ Too much like an empty 221b, it didn’t look like home; I wanted it to look like home. It had to look like home; it couldn’t look like anything other than home. _Because this is your home now. You’re staying here forever._ So I’d like to have my things here!

I started with the violin, placing it by the big windows, just like Baker Street. All the objects from the table went on the table in this front room, in the exact same places. The books went on the shelf in the same order (relevance, then by alphabetical, then by release date) skull was placed on the mantel. I moved the chairs into the same positions as 221b, so they faced the TV properly, centring the sofa too, positioning the Union Jack pillow on John’s chair... _not John’s chair. Nothing of his is here. This **isn’t** 221b remember? _But if John came to visit the left hand side chair would be his, just like at home. So it would still be John’s chair. _What if he doesn’t visit after today?_ It would still be his chair! The left chair was always his chair, nobody could deny that, I always had the right chair, he always had the left. It was how we _worked._

_Not so much now though. You’re not at 221b anymore, you’re here. This is your home now; you’re not going back to 221b. You’ve been affectively **sectioned,** there’s no way you’ll be allowed back to Baker Street, or anywhere else for that matter. _That didn’t matter to how me and John worked, the set up was always the same. He was with me, he was always with me. _No he’s not. It took months for you to even start talking again! John isn’t always with you, and he’s certainly not going to be here now while you’re stagnating, almost comatose from so many medications. Do you really think he’s going to sit here with you while you drool and occasionally twitch? What would be in it for him? Certainly not the adrenaline you promised him._ No, no that was wrong, that was, it wasn't happening.

_You’re a proven violent psychopath; do you really think that you’re not going to be drugged so much you can hardly move? Do you really think you’re going to be allowed to remain active? In **the most powerful man in England’s house?** Just because you’re brothers and Mycroft’s in charge of all of this doesn’t mean you’re going to remain mobile. _ Oh no, oh God no. _Oh God yes. So goodbye to autonomy._

“Hey, how’s the unpacking going? Looks good in here.” John came in; _don’t let him know that you know. It’ll happen sooner if you act scared. Put him out of his misery and all that._

“Suits! Need to unpack suits.” I grabbed the suitcases and stumbled down the hall way, frantically trying to rationalise this. The no lies rule was still intact; John would _tell_ me these things! He wouldn’t leave me in the dark about this, he’d tell me! And there’d be no therapist, or any talking, I wouldn’t have woken up properly. I’d have just been hooked up to a drip and left to it. John wouldn’t let me suffer; he really would not let me suffer for this. John was good, John was nice, he wouldn’t allow it, he wouldn’t allow-

“Need any help?” John hesitated at the door.

“No, no, I have it under control.” I was in control, perfectly in control. I wasn't scared, I was just unpacking suits and rationalising that I was going to be just fine damn it! Black suits first, then the one dark blue one, then the grey. Then white shirts fading into black shirts in perfect order of the colour spectrum, dark green in the middle. Shoes lined up precisely at the bottom of the wardrobe, from scruffiest on the left to cleanest on the right. And my coat, where was my coat?! _They’ve taken it! They’ve taken away the coat, and the scarf! They lied when they said that they weren’t taking anything away!_

“Coat, coat, coat, coat, where’s my coat?!” I span round desperately, where was it?! I needed my coat, I needed it! I had it on earlier, where did I go!?

“Whoa, whoa, breathe Sherlock, breathe! Your coat is probably just on the coat rack downstairs. It’s definitely here, I made sure of it.” John promised, _LIAR._

“I need it! I need my coat! I need it right now!” I couldn’t go with my coat; I had to have my coat. I never went anywhere without it even in the summer it was my _coat._ It was long and perfectly tailored to swish properly like I wanted it and was warm and heavy and calming and I couldn’t live without it because it was _my coat_ why wasn't it here why wasn't it here?!

“Okay, okay, let’s go and check for it then, yeah? We’ll go and get it together. Breathe Sherlock, it’s not lost or forgotten. It’s just been misplaced.” John glanced at the door, _at the guards; they’ll get you in a second if you don’t behave._

“Can’t go, can’t go. I need my coat! I can’t go without my coat!” I couldn’t go anywhere without my coat! I needed it, I needed it!

“Then we’ll go and get it. It’s just downstairs, alright? How about if I go and get it for you? Would that be okay?” John suggested, no I wanted to get it! But I couldn’t go, I couldn’t go! I needed my coat!

“No! No I need it right now! I need it!” John couldn’t get it, he couldn’t touch it, it was mine! _Feel your anger rising up? Feel yourself getting violent? Want to hit something?_ NO! NO JUST GIVE ME MY COAT!

Footsteps thundered into the room, hands grabbing at my arms and something stabbing into my arm. Everything went black before I even had a chance to react.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly I feel like this chapter needs a bit of an explanation. Sherlock freaking out so much about his coat is part of his Aspergers - his coat is part of his 'armor' and to me, I view it also as a bit of a comfort object for him, which makes the world an easier place to be in. Not having it, even though he's not going outside, is a devastating blow when he's already stretched very thin. So, he has a meltdown because he's not got his coat. The reason why he doesn't move from his spot and can't let John get it either is because during meltdowns, it feels like the world will end if you move from that spot, even if moving means you'll get to the thing you feel you need. It's happened with me many times, I've gotten so stressed out over something, I've had a complete meltdown and have refused to move an inch from my chair because I feel like the world is going to crash down around me and end. So even if going somewhere else would give me more information on the stressful matter, I still won't go, because I feel like I can't move without everything getting worse. That's my reasoning behind Sherlock not moving even though he wants his coat.   
> Secondly, I've had a few messages asking if John knows that it's his voice Sherlock's hearing inside his head, the answer is no, he doesn't. All John knows is that Sherlock is hearing something nobody else is, not what/who it is.   
> And thirdly, I've put up another short SA of original work on my wattpad account, my username is 'mydreamsofwriting' and the story is called 'The Powers That Be - Oneshots' if you want to check it out! :D


	120. Chapter 120

119 Mycroft's POV

“It was, it was just his coat. He completely freaked out over his coat. I don’t understand.” John sighed, placing Sherlock’s coat over my brother’s shoulders. Our guards had sedated him after he’d had a meltdown that they had deemed to be getting violent, to protect everyone involved. While I wished it had gone differently, I understood their motives. It was what I’d hired them for. John hadn’t been happy over it, but he understood now that it was necessary, if not just to cut off violent attack.

“Sherlock gets incredibly stressed but usually keeps it under wraps, when it gets too much, just one thing can completely tip him over the edge. Sherlock has had an incredibly stressful day and as he unpacked, he realised the enormity of what is happening to him. He was keeping his fears to himself and pretending they weren’t there, to find his coat missing, well, the entire thing boiled over and caused this.” I explained with a sigh, straightening the black Belstaff.

Sherlock was lying back on his bed, not a muscle twitching underneath his beloved coat. It hurt to see him so still, so... well, so drugged. I had hoped to avoid this happening at any point, but I guessed it had to happen at least once. Better to get it out of the way soon instead of scaring him later.

“But it was just a coat.” John whispered, biting his lip at the sight of my little brother.

“A part of my brother’s condition I’m afraid.” I remembered this from so many incidents of our childhood. Sherlock had always had these issues during highly stressful times, though he didn’t always have a huge meltdown like this. Sometimes it was storming off in a sulk, sometimes throwing himself into whatever he found to be comforting.

Like when Redbeard died, he’d thrown himself into studying at school, causing him to pass out after refusing to eat or sleep because he was too stressed to even notice he was hungry or tired. Sherlock always had had single minded focus with these things, when stressed he focused on just his one thing with ridiculous intensity. This time, he’d focused on his coat; it could have been a _lot_ worse.

“Then why did you have to sedate him? He just wanted his coat, that was all.” John glared, hands fisting.

“Because Sherlock has a recent violent history, including enacting violence against _you_ just this morning. I will not risk you John, not now, not while my brother needs you as much as he does. You were not going to calm Sherlock down then, he was stuck in a loop and it was unlikely he would have been able to move from that loop for a very long time. With his recent history added in, there was a significant chance of him getting violent. I will not risk you or my brother’s guilt. It will be worth potentially scaring him now to save your physical being in the long run.” I explained, hoping John wouldn’t argue. I had rescinded the rules I’d placed on him, yet I still felt that it would be best if he didn’t argue with me.

“But I’ve never seen anybody with PTSD do that, it’s not a normal PTSD thing. Violence and panicking, but not over things like coats.” John looked so confused.

“That would be because that is not the only thing at play here.” I answered.

“What else is then?” John questioned... hadn’t he figured this out yet? John was a doctor for God’s sake, how could he not figure out that Sherlock was lying about being a sociopath, and was actually on the autistic spectrum, most accurately, Aspergers?

“I’m not at liberty to say. Sherlock is the only one who should tell you as it is his business. He will tell you when he is ready to, which I hope will be soon.” I really hoped it would be soon, because I couldn’t say. This was something Sherlock had to admit to himself and John, not something I could let out for him. That was a step too far; I had to let Sherlock make his decisions for himself about things like this.

“Are you not telling me out of the desperate need to be cryptic or is there an actual reason?” John groaned.

“I simply feel that this is something Sherlock should discuss with you, not for me to simply tell you. There are a great deal of things Sherlock hasn’t told you over the years, and some of it is rather important in understanding his actions,” John winced as I said it, knowing exactly what I meant, “I could tell you, but then I feel it will upset Sherlock further. And anyway, it’ll sound better from his mouth, as well as prove therapeutic to admit to some of things he has bottled inside.” I finished.

“Too bad he doesn’t tell me anything, and you even less. It’s like getting blood from a stone.” John rolled his eyes, as Sherlock let out a pained groan.

His head twitched minutely, another groan falling from his lips, before his entire body tensed just like it had earlier. Sherlock’s eyes moved wildly behind his eyelids, leaping up with a shout, exactly as he had done earlier on.

“Whoa there mate, it’s alright.” John started to reassure him.

“We located your coat; it was on the coat peg, like John said it would be.” I commented before more teeth-gritting words could fall from John’s mouth.

“Yeah, it was just on the coat peg, like I said it would be. Gunna be okay now that we found it?” John smiled, hand gently resting on Sherlock's shoulder... brave move from the soldier there considering the last twenty four hours.

It took a second for Sherlock to realise his coat was in his lap, and once he did he grabbed it and pulled it around his shoulders, shyly whispering a ‘thank you.’

“It’s alright, can’t have you without it can we? You’d get a bit lost.” John was talking like Sherlock was an idiot, if my brother was in the right state of mind he would have bitten his head off for it. I’d have to have a word with him before Sherlock told him about his Aspergers if he carried on using that tone of voice...

“Now shall we continue with the unpacking? The precious sock index won’t sort itself.” I redirected the entire conversation before it got awkward or something.

“Sock index, yeah I need to do that.” Sherlock crawled off the end of the bed and wandered bare foot over to the designated sock drawer, starting his indexing.

“Give him a little while to fully wake up, if he gets agitated, redirect him somehow. For now, I must leave to attend to some paper work; you’ll all be called down for dinner later.” I advised John quietly, before leaving the room again. I’d only half lied about that paperwork, but if I didn’t go now, I’d make things worse by being there, Sherlock always found me an irritant, I wasn't going to make the problem worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments and kudos! Also, if anyone has any questions about this fic, or have any constructive advice for how I'm handling Sherlock's Aspergers/PTSD, I'd love to hear from you, so I know if there's anything I haven't explained properly, or I've gone slightly off track with. It's all greatly appreciated!


	121. Chapter 121

120 Sherlock's POV

My socks were a mess, they needed sorting right now. The index was for a reason, how else would I find the right ones I needed? Blackest socks went in the front part of the draw, going back to the ones that were going grey even if nobody else could tell that. I didn’t have to worry about them being scratchy or if the elastic was going because each pair was changed every six months, for optimum comfort and style.

“So, anything I could help with? You’ve got a couple of things left to do.” John asked, when did Mycroft leave? _Ohh you’re alone now. Just the two of you. Alone. How is this going to figure out after you freaked out over a damn **coat?**_

“Er... no. I’m fine, I can do it... You can go, if you want.” I shook my head, John didn’t need to help, I could do everything myself. He didn’t need to sit here, if anything, it was best if he left. _In case you encounter another missing thing and have a bat shit meltdown._

“I’ll think I’ll stay. Mycroft’s house is a bit boring to be honest, too much wood panelling and not enough soul.” John shrugged, sitting on the bed.

_Go on, insult your brother. Say he doesn’t have a soul, piss him off more and get yourself into more trouble. How much do you think you’re in for that last freak out? What do you think John thinks of you now? What do you think Mycroft thinks of you now? You’re already under lock down, with the threat of sedation hanging over your head, what do you think is going to happen if you continue to have meltdowns like this? You’ll be in a near constant coma._

“He likes it.” I mumbled, _going down the answering-but-politely route. Making sure you’re not ignoring John but not being mean. Like that’s going to help matters._

“Hmm, I can imagine. Though I doubt he has time to redecorate, busy man he is with all that, what is it? MI5, CIA, every other agency just using initials?” John asked.

“All of them, and the British Government.” I answered, pushing the draw into its rightful place.

“Figured as much.” John smiled as I started pushing all my pyjamas into my drawers. T-shirts inside out on the left, pyjamas right way round on the right.

_Going to apologise at any point at all? Or are we just going to ignore this all forever? Another elephant in the room, there’s a herd in there right now._

“I... I’m sorry, for earlier. You shouldn’t have had to see such a terrible lapse in judgment. Not so soon after the last one.” _Which was just this morning you idiot. One more ‘lapse in judgement’ today and John’s going to think you’re completely **insane.** You just got sedated in front of him, one more moment like that and he’ll think you’re insane, you don’t want that, now do you?_

“No need to apologise Sherlock, it’s been a trying day and one thing sent you over the edge, nothing to be ashamed of. We should have remembered to bring your coat up, not leave it downstairs.” John waved it off. _You should have been able to get the damn coat yourself if you were so concerned about it, instead of standing there crying and shouting like a stupid toddler._

“Coats are supposed to be downstairs.” _By the door. Because they’re **outdoor** clothes, not indoor clothes. So why the hell are you wearing it inside like that? Take the damn thing off, you’re not leaving this house until you die or get transferred to a securer facility where you can’t hurt anybody else. _

“Never stopped anybody before.” John smiled, _he means you._

An awkward silence descending itself on us then, as I finished up with putting everything into draws, leaving me with nothing to do. John continued to sit on my bed, staring around like he didn’t know what to do either.

“So,” he dragged the word out, “Mycroft said something earlier to you that didn’t make sense.”

Oh shit, _he’s going to ask about the meltdown and you’re going to have to explain the Aspergers further than he already knows he’s going to think you’re a freak or special needs and baby you or run far away to get out of this mess shit, shit, shit, FUCK._

“He called you William, three times if I remember rightly. Why is that?” John said what about Mycroft? I didn’t remember him calling me William... _because you were too busy having a full scale meltdown stupid._

“He did?” I really didn’t remember him doing that...

“Yeah, he did. I was wondering why, cause your name is Sherlock, unless you’ve been lying to me about your name too.” John laughed, _fuck if he finds out you did lie about that he’s going to be so angry! You’ve lied to him enough and you can’t even tell him your name!_

“I... I legally changed it years ago. When I turned eighteen. I, I... Nobody calls me William anymore, haven’t since I was child. I, I sort of forgot about it. Sorry.” I couldn’t lie _more_ by telling him some weird tale as to why Mycroft was calling me William; I had to tell John the truth to prevent him getting even angrier with me in the future! But oh God what if he hated me now for lying to him in the first place? Please don’t let him hate me for this, after _everything_ I’d done, please don’t let this lie be the one that broke the camel’s back.

“Really? You’re actually called William?” John didn’t _sound_ angry... _John’s a good actor, he’s been pretending to be friends with you for years._

“William Sherlock Scott Holmes.” Telling the truth now would be a good thing, right? It couldn’t be a _bad_ thing to open up about something small like this? _It could encourage John to ask more questions and you will **have** to answer them because you answered this one. Imagine how fun that will be, telling all your dirty little secrets, making him hate you even more, one truth at a time. _

“Never pegged you as a William.” John smiled, “Please tell me Mycroft changed his name too.” He leant forward like he was getting huge amounts of gossip.

“He’s just Mycroft, no other names.” I debated whether or not to tell him about Mummy’s names for him. _Mycroft will murder you in your sleep, and let out all your secrets if you tell._ And he was only stepping in with all this therapy crap for damage control against that bloody reputation of his, he deserved a little payback.

“Mummy used to call him Myke though, even though he hates it.” I gave in, John snorted.

“Myke? Mind if I call him that next time he’s pissing me off?” John giggled, **I did that.** I made him laugh a little; I’d made John laugh for the first time in I didn’t know how long. For a second, I didn’t feel completely useless.

“Only if you want me to never listen to a word you say ever again, and Sherlock really shouldn’t leave out that Mummy called him _Billy_ until he was old enough to shout that that wasn't his name.” Mycroft leant against the wall, smug smirk on his face. I glared at him, which luckily wiped that damn smirk off his face again.

“Dinner is being served in the dining hall.” He continued and left... _No battle of wits with big brother anymore? How odd. Maybe he’s given up trying because he has you beat every time... or he’s scared you’re going to freak out if he stressed you too much._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comment/kudos! :D


	122. Chapter 122

121 Sherlock's POV                                          

Dinner passed awkwardly to say the least, the three of us sitting in silence and picking at the food on offer. I didn’t feel hungry in the least, more sick than anything if was honest. Today had been too much, _far_ too much; I needed time to process, to _think._ Digestion would slow me down, and that was even if I kept it down. The last thing I needed on top of everything else that happened today was to be throwing up.

Nobody commented on my lack of food intake either, continuing to eat in silence instead. _That’s because they don’t care anymore. You can act like they care all you want, it’s obvious they don’t. The only reason why you were given a choice on where you are spending the rest of your days was to avoid another freak out during an argument. Nobody wants that headache on top of everything else right now._

I didn’t even have anything to say against that, I didn’t really have anything to say to the negative thoughts in my head right now. Well, apart from the fact that I’d made John laugh earlier. I’d actually made him laugh a bit; I’d made John _laugh_ for the first time in months. _Yes but it was because it was something about **Mycroft** that made him laugh. It wasn't you; it was you revealing a secret about brother dearest. _I still made him laugh, after the mess of today I’d provided him with a _second_ of laughter. That meant more than anything else. _You still gave him a concussion today, that’s more important than a laugh._

It was still a damn laugh. I was taking that. _Take the tiniest points of happiness in between all of this crap, looks like that’s the only way to survive nowadays. It’s not like you’ll be able to get out of here to have some fun. You’re never going to be allowed out ever again, you’re now stuck here. To be regulated and medicated, everything left to someone else to decide. You’ll never have a bit of freedom again._

“I’m going to bed.” I abruptly got up and left the dining room before I snapped and did something even more stupid in front of John. _You’re already sectioned how much worse can you make things between the two of you?_

Getting back to the bedroom I suddenly realised that I was now expected to _sleep._.. I didn’t think this through. I couldn’t sleep here, not anywhere. I wouldn’t wake anybody up here, I was too far away from the rest of the people in the house, but if I slept, I’d have a nightmare and then everyone would _know._ I’d denied the existence of my nightmares, I wasn't about to prove that I was a liar as well as a psychopath today.

So what did I do now? I was, well, _stuck_ in the house. I couldn’t go for a walk around London, or unpack as I’d already done that. What could I do for the night? I could possibly... no... Would I be able to _experiment_ or _play violin_ here? Nobody else was around apart from the guards, but would they stop me from doing something other than sleeping? _Of course they will, they’re the scarier version of orderlies. They’re going to stop you doing everything out of spite, just like orderlies._ We would have to test this theory... But could I do it right now? It was getting late; I was supposed to be sleeping, would they stop me? I didn’t know if I should risk it... _They could hear you playing and sedate you again. Who knows what kind of things they’ll sedate you for, could be anything, including playing violin, especially if you’re torturing it like usual._

Not today, better to get the lay of the land quietly first. Not risk another invasion like earlier on. I shuddered at the memory, facing the corner it happened in. That fear, the restriction... **no,** wasn't going to think of that right now. I was... going to get a book to read. Yes, I was going to get a book to read. So I turned and exited the room, going to find a heavy book to get stuck into for the night.

But even after I settled down into my bed and started reading, I couldn’t focus. It wasn't exhaustion doing it this time; it was more invasive thoughts flowing through my head. More and more worries of what was going to happen now, because what really was going to happen now? Was I going to be stuck here for the rest of my life? Was this a holding place until I was well enough to be sent off somewhere else, somewhere like _prison?_ It had been such a big blowout in front of Scotland Yard, they now thought they had actual proof that I was a psychopath, if they started investigating me, they could have found the trail of bodies behind me. Donovan and Anderson in particular would call for my arrest, and there would be no way in hell I’d get out of that one.

And if I was lucky enough to get away with it, what else would be for me now? Scotland Yard wouldn’t be scrambling to work with me again; I hadn’t taken on a private client since before I ‘died’ so they probably wouldn’t want me either. _That’s assuming you’re ever going to be let out of here._ Yeah, assuming that I got out of here at all. Why would I be let out of Mycroft’s clutches ever again? Here he could watch over me all the time, keep me out of trouble and out of the way. No need to worry about what his psychotic, special needs little brother was doing. All his worries about me ruining his reputation would all but disappear. Why would he ever give that opportunity up?

_He wouldn’t. Simple as that._

Fuck. Fucking shit. Everything I wanted to _not_ happen was happening, everything I’d worked so hard to get was being taken. I’d fought so damn hard my entire life to get away from being dependant on my brother, on proving I could do things by myself. In this mess I’d messed that up entirely, proving myself incapable of doing the simple notion of keeping calm. This was all my fault; I was stuck in Mycroft’s house forever. How could I have been so _stupid_ to let this happen? How could I let this happen, after _everything?_ How fucking stupid was I?!

“Hey,” John knocked on my door, “I’m heading home now. Is there... is there anything you need, from home? Like books or, I don’t know... something.” He didn’t meet my eye. _He’s not coming back, this is his escape! You’re going to be left alone now, because nobody wants to talk to the sectioned monster!_

“No, no, there’s nothing. I’m, I’m good.” _HA, that’s hilarious! What’s the next joke?_

“Alright, well if you think of something just phone and I’ll bring it round.” John nodded, _he’s not saying another about coming back tomorrow. Only coming back if you need something. You’re not going to see him ever again, because he’s **ashamed**_ _and **scared** to be anywhere near you. No amount of jokes at Mycroft’s expense is going to change that. _

“O-Okay.” _Don’t cry you wimp, you knew this was happening at some point. Stop pretending that this wasn't a planned outcome for this whole mess. Man up Holmes._

“See you around Sherlock.” John sighed and left, the door closing behind him with a slam of finality that resonated around in my head with deafening echoes.

I was alone again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments and the kudos, it does mean a huge amount to me!


	123. Chapter 123

122 Sherlock's POV

I managed to pull myself together overnight, getting some semblance of myself back, because _of course_ John wasn't going to stay for that long while I was here. _Of course_ he was going to go home at some point. I couldn’t expect him to stay here the entire time, this wasn't home, and John had a life outside of me. _And now he’s free to live it without you dragging along behind him, whining and looking pathetic._

I had to get used to that and get on with it, I’d expected this, so I had to man up and get through it. So that was what I did, I pushed it away and got through it, managing to look as put together as possible for when Doctor Hardwick turned up at midday, just as she had scheduled.

“Good morning Sherlock! How was your night? Restful I hope!” She greeted with a smile. She was sat in the front room, looking far too comfortable in what was supposed to be _my_ chair.

“That’s... That’s my chair.” I pointed out; the leather chair on the right was mine. _You’ve never even sat in it and it doesn’t have your name on it. Don’t be selfish all your life._

“Is it? Oh sorry, I just picked one would you like me to move to the other?” Hardwick asked, starting to get up.

“Er... no, no, it’s okay.” I sat in what I’d already deemed as ‘John’s chair’ which was on the left, just like it should have been. But I felt _wrong_ in the chair, it was too soft, it was like I was sinking into it, and being this way round threw me off because all the angles in the room were _wrong._ Well the angles weren’t wrong, it was the space itself. I was used to looking towards the door and the kitchen, not the window, which had the completely wrong setting outside too. I was used to seeing the other side of Baker Street, not some fields and London in the distance!

“Are you sure? You look a little uncomfortable. I know you like things a certain way, it’s no trouble to switch.” _She’s talking about the Aspergers, that you’re **special needs** and we all know the special needs boy has to have things a certain way or he’ll have a meltdown. _

“It’s fine. It’s just a bloody chair.” I gritted out, forcing myself to relax into John’s chair and _not_ pull my dressing gown closer to my chest.

“Alright then, shall we begin with our session?” Hardwick smiled... she wasn't holding a clip board or anything, how was she writing all this down?

“Where are you making notes on this?” I asked, there was always a clipboard or a notebook; there was always _something_ to write things down.

“Ah, well, if you don’t mind, I’d like to record our sessions on my phone. It means I can write up the notes from the session later and pay closer attention to you while I’m here. I promise that I don’t show anybody my recordings, or my notes for that matter. So your brother won’t hear any of this if you are worried about that.” Hardwick answered, _pshh yeah like she’d have to show him._

“Mycroft doesn’t need to be shown things; he gets hold of things without permission.” I told her.

“Well he’s already promised me that he won’t be hacking in to see how we’re doing.” Hardwick made me snort.

“Sure he won’t. And he’s not the nosiest person ever in the history of the nosy people.” I rolled my eyes; she didn’t have a clue did she? _Mycroft’s going to monitor every word you say and use it against you, just like always. He’s never going to let you do anything without monitoring it every step of the way._

“He’s not, Mycroft is taking a step back this time, letting you get better in your own time without his input, because he’s learning from his mistakes.” Hardwick actually believed that as well. Wow she was ignorant in the ways of my brother? 

“If you really believe that.” I sighed, giving in. I couldn’t stop my brother, couldn’t really stop him doing _anything_ in fact. “So what is today’s session about? Going to show me inkblots and see if I interpret them all violently? I’ve been through that already, the guy who did it thought I was a sociopath; I doubt you’ll get a different answer.” I gave her a sarcastic smile.

“We both know he was wrong there Sherlock and I don’t deal with the ink blot type tests. I’m not here to psychoanalyse you, or tell you more of what you already know, I’m here to help you deal with your PTSD.” Hardwick sighed, not like she was being put-upon, more like she felt _sorry_ for me. _Well you are practically a charity case, it’s hard not to feel sorry for you, you radiate pathetic._

“I don’t have PTSD. I’m not a soldier traumatised from war.” I _did not_ have PTSD; I didn’t allow my brain to develop such things. I hadn’t ever developed a mental health problem in my life because I didn’t _let_ myself do it, now was no different. _Care explaining the violent outbursts, the flashbacks, the nightmares etcetera? And what about that spout of depression after Redbeard died, the one that landed you in the hospital? You didn’t stop the depression then, did you?_ Because William wasn't in control of his emotions, Sherlock was! I was Sherlock, I had control, I was in control. _And the sky is bright green._

“Surely you know by now that anybody can get PTSD, not just soldiers. Anybody who has been through a traumatic experience can develop the condition.” Hardwick told me, _your brain failed you this time!_

“I don’t have PTSD! I wasn't traumatised from what I did, I’m not traumatised! Stop trying to put these stupid ideas into my head, I’m not going to fall for it this time!” No other doctor was going to try and push stupid diagnoses into my head! She wasn't going to force a label on me and treat me for something I didn’t have!

“Sherlock, calm down. You’re getting agitated and we don’t want that.” Hardwick put her hands out like it would defend her against me, “If you disagree with my diagnosis, what would you say you have then? What would you say is causing the sleep difficulties, the violent outbursts and everything else?”

“Don’t try reverse psychology or whatever it is you’re trying. I’m not stupid, just like I don’t have PTSD.” I glared at her, didn’t she know by now that I knew these damn psychiatrist tricks? I’d been here before, I’d been through almost every type of therapy every invented, I knew the tricks by now. I knew _all_ the tricks!

“I’m not trying anything; I’m just trying to open a dialogue with you, that’s all. I want to get to the bottom of your problems as much as you do; all I’m doing is trying to help that along.” Hardwick shrugged, _liar._

“Like that’s going to make a difference to anything. You’re just going to pretend to listen for now and then do whatever you want with me for my so called treatment. None of you guys ever listen to a word I say, it’s all just a show so you can continue to give me whatever medications you want and act like it’s helping, when all you’re really doing is nearly knocking me into a coma.” I hissed at her, I wasn't bloody stupid, I knew this drill! Doctors and Mycroft always thought it was better to drug me into submission, while I was in their claws, they could feed whatever medications they wanted to me and call it _therapy._ When really all they were doing was ignoring the problem and acting like they understood, when really they couldn’t have cared less.

And anyway, what was the _point_ in ‘getting better’ now? I was stuck in Mycroft’s house for the rest of my life, what was the point in pretending that this was to get me better so I could go home? This was my home now, what was the point in me getting back to normal when my normal wasn't coming back?

“I’m not going to medicate you into a near coma state, that’s not what I do.” Hardwick started to explain.

“But you do want to medicate me, don’t you? You said just yesterday to consider taking sleeping medication, which I don’t need, so you can’t say you don’t!” She couldn’t lie to me, I could pick apart liars in seconds if I so wanted to.

“I did, but that’s because I know that you are having issues with sleeping right now. I only suggest medication to help you feel better, not to stop you functioning.” Hardwick defended herself, _unlikely that one. What kind of moron does she take us for? Does she really think that this is your first round of therapy?_

“Stop lying! I’m not taking any medications and you can’t make me do it! I’m in control of me, not you, you can’t force me into doing it, I refuse to be some drugged up patient who can barely even breathe!” I wasn't going to do it, I wasn't doing that!

“Okay, okay. If you don’t want medication, you don’t have to... Tell you what; I’ll not medicate you for now. We can just talk daily if you wish, I’m not here to force you into anything, so while I’d rather you were medicated, I’m not going to push it right now.” Hardwick held up her hands, “ _But,_ if I deem it absolutely necessary, I _will_ be putting you on medications to help. I will let you discuss it with me first, but I will not be moved in that decision. At the same time, if you ever feel like you desperately need any sort of medications to help with anything, I will also listen and see what I can do.”

“... You’re serious right now?” I couldn’t... she wasn't seriously going to let me off right now, was she? _Lulling you into a false sense of security._

“I guess I am. You are by far the strangest patient I’ve ever had, and the most unconventional so I reckon unconventionally giving you the control is the best way to go. It’s certainly worth a shot at the least, and if it helps you trust me and open up, I can’t see the harm.” Hardwick shrugged.

I didn’t understand this woman _at all._ What was she trying to do here?!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh we're so close to hitting a thousand comments! Thank you all so much, I don't think I've ever had that many before!


	124. Chapter 124

123 Mycroft’s POV

“Doctor Hardwick, do you mind tell me what you think you are doing by leaving my brother without medication right now?” I asked as calmly as I could, while on the inside I wanted to fire her on the spot.

What did she think she was doing, leaving Sherlock without medications right now?! He was a time bomb waiting to go off at any second and she was risking him even further by not medicating him! Sherlock _needed_ to be forcibly calmed down, needed to be aided into sleep, he needed to be regulated! Leaving him running around without anything in his system was going to end in a bigger disaster than the one that landed him under my care in the first place!

“Sherlock has a desperate need for control and a deeply ingrained fear of psychiatrists. What I’m trying to do is gain his trust by giving him some control over his treatment, so his previous experience with psychiatrists doesn’t cloud his sessions with me.” Doctor Hardwick explained, she didn’t look scared of me; she should have been terrified so she listened _very, very_ carefully to what I said and then obeyed.

“So you’re going to risk him having another large scale meltdown, which could end in untold amounts of casualties, simply to _gain Sherlock’s trust?_ Doctor Hardwick you clearly do not understand my brother at all, he needs to be medicated to cope with this; he will not last long if he does not have proper care.” I would not let another meltdown happen, not if I could help it.

“With all due respect Mr Holmes, you told me that you were going to stay out of this and not sway my treatment decisions, I’d like you to respect that right now because your input will not help Sherlock. He currently does not trust me, and therefore will not open up to me, which will stunt his progress, if not stop it completely. Sherlock needs to learn to trust me, so I need to give him a reason to do so. So I am handing over some of the control to him, by letting him decide if and when he wants to be medicated. This gives him a reason to see that I am not like the previous psychiatrists you have dumped him with, and gives him some control over a situation he clearly feels is out of his control. Surely you know by now that Sherlock likes control as much as you do, so giving him that bit of control back, while he is supervised, will result in a better outcome for everybody involved.” She was towing the line with me right now, _really_ pushing her luck with arguing with me.

But she had a point. Bloody hell. I was getting slow in middle age.

“Okay, I will agree to this, but only because Sherlock needs to control his environment. The minute he shows signs of ne-” I started.

“The minute he shows signs of needing to be medicated, despite not wanting it, I will make sure he gets what he needs, even if he doesn’t want it. But for now, Sherlock can function without medications, and so I will let him continue without them. Instead I will give him more conventional talking therapy to help him, which has also been proven to work on PTSD patients. I have a few other plans in place if things do not progress as I’d like them to, but for now, I’d like to focus on helping him conventionally before I really start to think outside the box.” Doctor Hardwick stood, “Always a pleasure to talk to you Mr Holmes, though I have to get going now, I’ve got a therapy plan to adjust.” She shook my head and exited the room. Nobody had ever tried to talk back to me like that... with any hope she could wear Sherlock down enough for him to listen to her for once.

“Oh, and Mycroft, please try and hang out with your brother. He’s very stressed right now, and I think having his big brother around will calm him a little, at the very least it will give him some company.” Doctor Hardwick poked her head round the door again.

“The only thing I will do is antagonise him, its best we wait for John to turn up, he has more of a calming effect than I do.” I snorted; this woman had a lot to learn about me and Sherlock.

“Still, go and talk to him about something. He’s in your house after all; you may as well go and talk to him.” Doctor Hardwick started sounding like Mummy, it was not appreciated.

“I’ll see him if I have time between all this paperwork.” I was not going to jump just because she said so; she was to treat Sherlock, not me.

“Just a suggestion Mr Holmes.” Doctor Hardwick shrugged and left, properly this time.

As her footsteps left the corridor, I turned to see what Sherlock was currently up to. Currently, it seemed as if he was trying to read again, but had ended up having another conversation with his head mate.

“No... It’s not a trick. They can’t trick me into just thinking I’m not medicated, I’ll know. She wasn't lying... No she wasn't lying, I could _tell_ she wasn't! I’ve got control; I’m in control because I’m trusted to be in control.” Sherlock was muttering, rubbing his temples, “Oh be quiet, please be quiet.”

_This_ is why I wanted Sherlock to be medicated; he was talking to himself for God’s sake! He was _begging_ for it to ‘be quiet’ and being told God knew what by his brain! He needed those thoughts eradicated! Though I had already researched it, medication would only quiet his voices, not stop them completely. Talking therapy could help quiet them too, but still, I wanted it quiet in his mind so Sherlock could _think._

I sighed, if we weren’t quieting Sherlock’s thoughts, I better go and distract him for a bit. At least give him something real to argue against. So, I heaved myself upwards and made my way to Sherlock’s room, where he was still rubbing his head.

“Headache, brother mine?” I leant on the doorway, Sherlock leapt feet. How had he not noticed me turning up outside?

“No. Just tired of my brain getting poked into and getting watched all the time.” Sherlock glared, then winced.

“Well that is what happens when-” for the second time that day, I got cut off.

“I have a full scale meltdown and make a huge scene, wrecking your reputation and worrying our long suffering mother half to death?” Sherlock smiled sarcastically.

“Please, Mummy is _always_ worried, and she doesn’t know the full scale of what happened yesterday. As far as Mummy is concerned, you decided to seek help because you didn’t feel like you were adjusting back to life, and you’re living with me because you wanted some familiarity while you recuperate.” I informed him, figuring it was something he should know.

“Oh... She believes that?” Sherlock asked, wincing again as his hands started tapping out their patterns.

“I can be very convincing, and Mummy believes that I tell her the truth, she has no reason not to.” I swung my umbrella around as I spoke. Though I couldn’t help but feel nervous at this conversation, in case I agitated Sherlock too much, I did it so often without meaning to.

“Because you’re the golden boy, never put a foot wrong in your life.” Sherlock rolled his eyes, realised he was tapping and sat on his hands.

“Of course I’ve put feet wrong. I’m just better at hiding my mistakes, or at least not giving Mummy reason to believe I was lying to her.” I answered, how did I reroute this to change the subject before Sherlock felt even more agitation towards me?

“She’s still coming down for Christmas, isn’t she?” Sherlock asked after a pause.

“With Daddy too, they’re very excited to see you.” I nodded, Sherlock swore under his breath.

“Sorry brother dear.” I tried to give a comforting smile; I knew it looked more sarcastic than anything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments/kudos! :D  
> There's a new update coming up on Wattpad today too, my username is 'mydreamsofwriting' if you want to check me out!


	125. Chapter 125

124 Sherlock's POV                                                             

I didn’t know what to say after that, I couldn’t exactly say that I didn’t want to see our parents. It wasn't like Mycroft didn’t know that anyway, he knew how agitated I could get around them.

“We can’t get out of this, can we?” I sighed, wishing we could postpone at the least. I couldn’t take a parent visit right now; it would be too much stress. I’d be _mothered_ and _hovered around,_ treated like I was a child. If that happened, I’d snap, and I didn’t even want to _think_ about what would happen if I snapped. _Hurting Mummy, hurting Daddy, losing even more of their trust. Disappointing them completely. Landing yourself in even worse trouble than you already are._

“I’m afraid not, Mummy has gotten rather insistent. I can’t put her off any further, though I can give a little warning to them, so they know to behave.” Mycroft offered, leaning against the door.

“Don’t bother, they’ll only worry more and start really being... like _parents._ ” I waved him off, shuddering. _Won’t that be fun, all the hugging and talking, the constant hovering?_

“Only because they care brother mine.” Mycroft answered.

“They have a weird way of showing it.” I got up, not liking being under Mycroft’s watchful eye. It felt like he was watching too much, seeing far too into my mind.

“Actually they show it like normal parents; we’re just not compatible with that type of affection.” Mycroft sighed too, umbrella spinning around between his fingers. _That’s because there’s something wrong with you. Something beginning with A..._

“Is John coming today, do you know?” I changed the subject, desperate to stop the voice and to get out of this conversation. _Great change there, instead of talking about your parent issues you’re going to get told that John isn’t coming back._

“Most probably. John seems eager to come by and visit you, make sure you’re doing well.” Mycroft answered, “Did you really think he wouldn’t come today? John’s your friend, is he not? Did you not think he would be around as much as possible?”

“People get... weird when faced with mental illnesses when it’s someone they know. John’s a doctor, but even he doesn’t understand, he’s not good with emotions.” I pressed my head against the glass of the window, hating explaining myself. Mycroft should know this, if he was so damn clever.

“You’re not good with emotions either, brother mine. Between the two of you, you are almost utterly useless with expressing your emotions, or talking about things that actually matter.” Mycroft sighed again, coming closer, though not bothering to offer comfort. _Like Mycroft would bother in offering comfort._

“Why are you here Mycroft? You’re not usually one for small talk.” I changed the subject again.

“I thought you would appreciate the company.” Mycroft answered, _lying._

“Hardwick made you come, didn’t she?” No way would Mycroft come down here without prompting. She had to have something to do with it.

“Fine, she suggested it would be a good idea for us to talk. Apparently company helps.” Mycroft admitted, making me snort.

“Helps what exactly? Calm me down, make me feel _normal_ again? I doubt it.” I rolled my eyes. _Unlikely, you’re never going to be normal._ Oh stop with the reminder, I knew that already!

“Help you integrate into your treatment or something. Psychology is admittedly not my strong point.” Mycroft leant back on his umbrella, still keeping a few feet away from me.

“What, you haven’t researched this deeply and become an expert overnight? I’m surprised Mycroft, you’re slipping.” I teased him, _are you sure that’s a good idea?_ We’d always taunted each other, that was _normal,_ it wasn't a sign I was ill or something. _But taunting the man controlling your fate, is that really a good idea?_ What more could he do to me? Send me back to a facility? Yeah, like that would be much different from here.

“Haven’t had the time, there’s paperwork to do and meetings I need to rearrange and prepare for. Learning about psychology can wait a few days until after I’ve caught up with the work I missed with sorting you out.” _Ohh, hear that scorn? Mycroft is not pleased with having to sort you out again._

“Why are you rearranging meetings?” I ignored the dig about me, best not to get too hurt or angry right now. I didn’t know what else could make me snap and get violent; I wasn't going to risk it.

“It seems that I have decided to work from home for a few days, to make sure you’re settling in and everything you need is provided. So is there something you need which hasn’t been provided?” Mycroft asked, covering the second’s worth of emotion.

_Sanity would be nice, so would going back to 221b. No more flashbacks, the ability to sleep._

“I’ll let you know.” I answered; there was nothing Mycroft could give me immediately that I wanted.

“I’m sure I’ll be the first to know whenever you desire something.” Mycroft replied, _yeah, you demanding little sod._

“As always.” I nodded, watching Mycroft twitch in the window reflection. He was unsure here, why was he unsure? He was _Mycroft,_ firmly-in-control-of-everything big brother, the sane one of the two of us, he shouldn’t have been unsure. If anything, I should have been the unsure one here. _Like you said, people get weird over mental illness. Mycroft is still people, and is just as scared of emotions as you are. He doesn’t have a clue on what to do with you._

There was an awkward silence, neither of us knowing what to follow that.

“Don’t you have work to get back to? Isn’t there some sort of small country that needs conquering or something?” I gave him the opportunity to go. Neither of us were comfortable talking, so we may as well have cut out losses before we ended up arguing again.

“Don’t remind me, the paperwork involved with conquering countries is tedious and extensive.” Mycroft groaned, I hadn’t heard him groan in several years.

“Sounds right up your street.” I commented, somehow comforted a little by Mycroft’s previous show of emotion, and the groan. It made him seem a little more, well, _human_ than the demi-god he tried to present himself as usually.

“Are you trying to say that you find me tedious and extensive in size?” Mycroft raised an eyebrow.

“Now you’re putting words in my mouth.” I felt a smile tugging at my mouth... I couldn’t recall the last time I wanted to smile around _Mycroft._

“You were thinking it, I know you too well Sherlock Holmes.” Mycroft smiled a bit too.

“Go and do your paper work _Mycroft Holmes,_ all this social interaction will make people think you’re not as scary as they assume.” I waved him off, withholding a laugh.

“If you say so.” Mycroft turned to leave, though he stopped at the door, “Sherlock,” I turned round to face him, seeing the hesitance on his face. _What the hell is he doing?_

“Thank you... for the cooperation in this. I understand that this is not what you wanted and that you find change hard to cope with, so thank you for being as cooperative as you are.”

My brain went blank at that.

“Being nice doesn’t suit you; go back to taking over countries and starting wars.” I didn’t mean it with malice, but what the hell did I even say to that?! What did I say to my smug older brother thanking me for being cooperative!? Why did it even need to be thanked?!

“Must be the lack of sleep getting to us both. Get some sleep at some time Sherlock.” Mycroft turned and left... what?!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comment/kudos!  
> Also a big thank you to my beta reader, Nita, who picks out all the spelling/grammar mistakes and reassures me when I feel like I'm going wrong in places!


	126. Chapter 126

125 Sherlock's POV

I didn’t understand Mycroft _at all._ Why was he being nice all of a sudden? Why was he _thanking_ me for cooperating? I didn’t understand, I couldn’t understand what he was doing at all! Why would he thank me for that, would anybody thank somebody else for this? _He’s planning something. Possibly guilt tripping you into continuing to behave, ‘don’t disappoint brother dearest or he’ll be angry’ or some rubbish._

That still didn’t make sense to me; Mycroft knew that guilt tripping me didn’t do anything. Was he... was he trying to show that he _cared_ about me or something? Impossible. Mycroft didn’t care about me; he cared about his reputation and his job, not about me. Maybe he just wanted a quiet life without me screaming around his house... then again he wouldn’t have let me move in if he really wanted a quiet home life.

I thought about it for days, never really understanding why Mycroft had said that to me. It kept me up at night, worrying me too much, because really, what was Mycroft planning? He came to me every day and said something vaguely nice, managing to not be too mean for the entire visit. That didn’t make sense, Mycroft wasn't _nice_ to me, he never had been. He’d been calling me stupid and bullying me for as long as I could remember, why was he suddenly _nice?_ It wasn't because I’d basically been sectioned; he’d never been this nice during my previous therapist rounds...

The only time I wasn't constantly thinking about it was when John came over. Because John came round _every day_ without fail, honestly every day. As soon as his morning shift at the surgery ended, he’d be round here within an hour. If he had the afternoon shift, he’d be over in the morning. Sometimes he brought our favourite takeaways to eat, others he brought some of Mrs Hudson’s baking; it was rare he came empty handed, even after the busiest day. And he was always so _cheerful_ to me when he came round, telling me all about his day, asking after how therapy was going, filling what had been awkward silence with chatter.

It almost felt _normal_ for a while, and if I closed my eyes, it was almost as if we were in Baker Street together, not Mycroft’s imitation. But it wasn't. Things were still wrong.

Mycroft was nice. Nobody else had visited yet, _too scared to get hurt in one of your violent moods._ Shut. Up. I still couldn’t bring myself to play violin when I wasn't asked to, or do any experiments, or do anything really. The worst thing though was... well...

I couldn’t find my feet here. I wasn't completely comfortable here, everything still felt so wrong. The routines were nice to have I guessed. _Get out of bed at 7.30am, shower and don’t freak out, dress and be in the kitchen by 8am, try to read until 12.30 when Doctor Hardwick turned up, have awkward therapy session filled with dodged questions and enforced ideas of having PTSD for an hour, lunch until 2pm, find something to do until 4pm when John turns up for several hours, eat dinner at 9pm, find something to do until 7.30am again._ But I couldn’t settle, I didn’t know what to do with myself. I didn’t want to do any experiments, couldn’t concentrate on reading, felt too scared to play violin, even though I knew that nobody would be disturbed here. It all felt _wrong._

I hadn’t felt this out of place with the world since... I’d _never_ been this out of place with the world. Even while I was playing dead, I’d been half in contact, things still made sense. Now I was finding myself wandering Mycroft’s house, wondering if this was to be the rest of my life. _Of course it is moron, you went psycho, now you’re trapped here, out of time and out of the world forever._ I wasn't comfortable with it though. _That’s because you’re not supposed to be comfortable._

“Sherlock, are you listening to me?” Hardwick asked... she’d been talking?

“Er, yeah, yeah I’m listening.” I lied, resisting the urge to hold my head. I was so tired; I could barely keep my head up.

“Repeat what I just said then.” She smiled, _caught out there._

“Something about how I’m doing, filled with psychological terms.” I guessed, it was usually what she was saying.

“Haha, very funny,” She deadpanned, “No. I was saying that you looked tired and asking if you had settled in yet. It’s been two weeks, and you’re still as edgy as you were the first day you came here.”

“I’m as settled as possible when living in the house of the nosiest government official known to mankind.” I answered simply, wasn't the truth, also wasn't a lie.

“Meaning that you’re not at all comfortable here.” Hardwick replied.

“Does it matter if I’m comfortable and settled or not? I’ve lived in worse conditions than this.” _Just last year in fact. This time last year we were... oh, I think we were in Germany, weren’t we? Hiding in that run down barn that leaked, the wind howling through the gaps in the wood. Nearly caught pneumonia if I remember rightly too._

“And that’s part of the reason why you’re here in the first place. So yes, it is important that you’re comfortable, so you feel safe. Feeling safe will also help you calm down more, so you’re not always on your guard.” Hardwick lectured again, I was getting tired of the lecturing about feeling safe and calming down.

I felt safe enough here, I knew I wasn't about to get attacked randomly. It was _me_ attacking _someone else_ that was the damn problem. I was so scared to hurt someone, so damn scared that I was going to hurt another person. Since my first day, nobody had touched me at all. Not even a gentle brush in the hallway. It was agony, but a small price to pay to keep far enough away from everybody so I couldn’t be tempted to hurt somebody.

“You clearly haven’t done your research, I’m always on my guard, have been for years. Nothing to do with fake deaths either.” I hissed, fighting back a yawn.

“I’ll have you know that I have done my research on you, and I know you’ve always been _guarded_ but not _on guard_ like this. You’re like a spring, coiled and ready to hit out the second anybody so much as touches you.” Hardwick sighed, I winced at her wording.

_Yeah, ready to **hit** when someone threatens you. Or not threaten, as it’s been so far. _

“What do you expect when Mycroft gave me a tonne of guards to watch over me wherever I go?” I glared at her, the guards tried to be inconspicuous, but they were always on my radar. Always watching and waiting, just outside the door, ready to take me down the second I got too out of control.

“Sherlock, would you be happier in a mental health facility? There won’t be guards there to watch you, and you may feel able to relax into a hospital environment better than you are here.” Hardwick sighed.

“NO! No I’m happier here! I’m not going to some facility!” I wasn't going away anywhere! This was as far as I was going! I wasn't going to go to some damn mental health facility to wither away and die in a padded cell!

“Whoa, okay! I was only suggesting it to you; I wasn't telling you that you were going to get moved! Breathe Sherlock; I won’t take you anywhere you don’t want to go! I was just offering an alternative, in case you would find that preferable!” Hardwick tensed, _ready for the monster to come out and attack._

“Good, I’m not getting treated anywhere _but_ here or Baker Street. I’m not getting sent to the middle of bloody nowhere to get treatment in some Godforsaken facility filled with insipid people and even stupider therapists.” I was _not_ going back to a hell hole that made me want to tear my hair out.

“If you’re sure. I’ll respect your choices, just like always, but if you ever do change your mind-”

“You’ll listen and get me changed to whatever, yes I know; you say this to me _daily._ ” I interrupted her, just as always, the same time line over and over again. ‘if you want to change anything just let me know’ was said about everything, it was _maddening._

“Just making sure you know that you have options Sherlock, you’re not stuck to being here just because that was what you decided two weeks ago. You can change your mind, at any time, I can continue your treatment if you want too, you can have any of the options your brother set out to you originally. Everything has been set up so _you_ are comfortable and _you_ are in the best place to recover, there will be no hard feelings for changing your mind. So I like to reiterate that you’re allowed to change your mind, so you _know._ ” Hardwick explained.

If only she knew that this was my most comfortable option, that this was my _only_ option. Facilities weren’t a good place for me; they made me worse if anything. Being here was my best option, and there was nowhere else I could go. It was the worst feeling, I just wanted to feel like I was could be reasonably happy somewhere. It was all I wanted, was it too much to ask to feel a little bit happy somewhere?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments/kudos!


	127. Chapter 127

126 John's POV

“Sherlock is fine Mrs Hudson, I promise. He’s taking a while to settle in, but he’s doing okay.” I promised our land lady, though it was mostly a lie.

Sherlock wasn't fine in the slightest, even though he pretended he was. According to Mycroft he still wasn't sleeping, or reacting well to therapy, still insisting that he didn’t have PTSD and didn’t need medication to calm him down. I didn’t understand why he couldn’t sleep; he did it just fine here... wait a minute. I’d never _seen_ Sherlock sleep in the flat, not once. He’d always gone to bed after me and been up before... the idiot hadn’t slept either, had he? Oh bloody hell, why didn’t I see that? How could I have _not_ seen that?!

I was a doctor for God’s sake, and Sherlock’s friend, I knew him better than almost anyone and I didn’t notice he wasn't sleeping, what else hadn’t I noticed? Did I even want to know what else I missed? How could I be so stupid as to miss signs that Sherlock wasn't okay? What else was I missing here? There was so much of Sherlock I didn’t know about, so much I hadn’t uncovered. I tried researching things, but I was getting nowhere, I was having trouble picking out what was PTSD and what could be other conditions. There was definitely more than just PTSD to play with here, but I couldn’t put my finger on what exactly that was.

“Are you sure John? It’s just that, I haven’t heard anything about him, neither has Lestrade, or Molly! You’re the only one with contact with Sherlock right now, and we worry, we want to know that he’s okay, and if there’s anything we can do...” Mrs Hudson insisted, I was tempted to tell her the truth but decided against it. I had a feeling that telling her everything going on would only make things worse.

Everyone meant well, but they weren’t what Sherlock needed right now. He needed to settle himself, get his world righted and to start accepting his therapy first. We couldn’t risk another grave side incident again, only with someone else in the firing line. Especially not Mrs Hudson, she was too frail to fight Sherlock off, and I didn’t want him dealing with the guilt of hurting her. He’d reacted badly enough to hurting Greg, I dreaded to think how much worse it would be if he hurt Mrs Hudson, who I knew he counted as a mother.

“I know, I will let you know. All this food you’re baking is really good for him at the moment, it reminds him of home. And he eats it too, you know, _actually_ eats it, instead of picking like usual.” I picked up the latest tin of biscuits, feeling the heat of the still warm treats heat up my palm.

“Does he?” Hope returned to Mrs Hudson’s eyes.

“I barely get a look in; I can swear to you that. He says he’s eating them all before Mycroft gets there, but I know he enjoys eating your treats, just as always.” I wasn't lying there, Sherlock really did eat a lot of the treats Mrs Hudson cooked him. Not as fast as I told her, but he still ate them over a two day span. He actually ate everything I brought him, I wasn't sure if it was out of actual hunger or a desperate need to look normal, but either way, Sherlock was getting some sort of food in him, which could never be seen as a bad thing.

“Oh that’s good, a big relief. Now you must be off dear, or you’ll be late!” Mrs Hudson pushed me out the door like she was coming along for the trip.

“I’ve not been late once, even if I was running late, Mycroft’s driver could get us there on time; he knows some secret way to get to the house... I’ll see if I can get Sherlock to call you, no promises there, but I’ll see what I can do.” I thought a phone call would be safe. No harm could be done in a phone call, could it? Shouldn’t do... I’d bring it up, see what I could manage.

\--

Getting to Mycroft’s house, I managed to navigate the corridors relatively well (this place was still _massive_ and a rabbit warren, how did Mycroft cope... damn that huge brain of his) finding Sherlock in the room designated as his friend room. He wasn't doing anything in particular, just as always. He never seemed to be doing anything when I came in to see him. There was usually a book near him, though he was never reading it, or he was trying and failing for whatever reason.

Right now though, he just looked _defeated_ and _exhausted._ Deep circles were hanging under his eyes, skin somehow paler than usual, curls lifelessly hanging around his face. I wondered if he was ever going to cut his hair but figured it wasn't my business, and anyway, was it a good idea to give Sherlock scissors? Most probably not.

“Hey, Mrs Hudson made more peanut butter cookies.” I shook the tin, making the poor guy jump again. I hated making him jump like that, absolutely despised it. Sherlock _always_ knew when someone entered the room, always could tell exactly who it was long before they entered. To see him caught by surprise was heartbreaking.

“She’s going to make the country run out of peanut butter soon.” Sherlock mumbled as he heaved himself upright. He always did that too, forced himself to sit upright and talk to me, even when he looked like all he wanted to do was curl in a ball and cry. I’d never seen him like this before and I hated it, absolutely hated it. I wanted to see the fight in him, see the stubborn side of him push through and dare someone to force him to move. I wanted to walk in to find him playing his violin, instead of prompting him to do it, to find eyeballs in the microwave and the Bunsen burner still on as I walked in, to expect the sound of bullets hitting the wall.

I wanted... I wanted _Sherlock,_ not the echo of him I was looking at. I wanted him back, but I didn’t have a clue on where to start to bring that man back. Not when he was so unsure of himself, so scared to put a foot wrong, so prone to violence. All I could do was show him I was still his friend, that I wasn't going to abandon him, that all of our friends still cared, and hope it was enough to encourage him to _try_ to figure things out.

Most of all though, I wanted to hug him, hold him close and promise that everything would be okay. That we could work all of this out, if he just allowed himself to listen to his therapist and accepted his diagnosis.

But I was scared to hold him, scared to touch him, in case I set something off. I got the worst ‘keep away’ vibes from Sherlock, like if I touched him I’d get hit for trying, even though his face screamed that he wanted some sort of love. I hated myself for not being brave enough to physically reach out to him, but I just didn’t want to set him back, or scare him too much. Not after the whole grave thing that landed him here. Not like that, not ever again if I could help it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to mention - thank you for going over 1000 comments, I don't think I've ever had that much in my life, and it means a huge amount to me to have that many comments on this. It's my first Sherlock fic, and to see the huge view count and over 1000 comments, it makes me smile every time!


	128. Chapter 128

127 Sherlock's POV

Mine and John’s latest socialisation passed with more awkward conversation about how everyone was doing at home (fine without me, but concerned, all planning visits ASAP) and several games of chess, all of which I won. John was hopeless at the game, having only learnt four years ago, because I taught him on a slow weekend a few months after he moved in. He seemed to enjoy himself though, so I guessed it was alright to beat him six times in a row while half asleep and with a mind concentrating on other things, as it always was.

John left after a big roast dinner (Mycroft insisted on that on Sunday’s. Said something about it being a tradition that should have been kept going. He was lying, he was just desperately trying to give me something to rely on happening every week) leaving me to curl myself around a book and hope for a reasonably quiet night. I actually managed to read a few pages today before my vision blurred and my concentration levels dropped dramatically. I couldn’t understand why I was suddenly so _tired,_ I’d gone for so long with only five hours of sleep a week, yet now I was falling asleep where I stood.

_That’s because you’ve not been consuming caffeine or sugar by the bucket load. Or getting those precious five hours. You’re running on sheer will power, and that’s going to run out eventually._ Oh please don’t remind me of that, I’d hate for someone to figure this out and force me to sleep. I didn’t want anybody to see my nightmares, to get into the line of fire while I was stuck in that moment again. If I could attack with little provocation while awake, what would I do in _sleep?_ I shuddered thinking about it, resolving to never, ever let that happen.

\--

“Sherlock, are you even listening to me?” Doctor Hardwick made me jump again... it had been four in the morning a minute ago, why was it suddenly the middle of the next day?! _Blacking out, not a good sign._

“Yes! Something about... something.” I waved it off, forcing my eyes open again. I was _not_ tired, not at all tired. I could manage through this therapy session. I’d gone without sleep for so long in Serbia, I could do it here. _It was awful though! All those loud sounds keeping you awake, the blinding light, the aches in our muscles, the blackouts, the **agony.** _ Oh go away!

“Have you slept at all since you arrived Sherlock? You’re not at all with it right now.” Hardwick questioned, fixing me with a hard stare.

“I’m _fine._ Can we just get on with therapy?” I wanted this _over_ for the day; I didn’t have the patience to be questioned about my damn sleeping habits right now. I never had the patience for it, what was it to someone if I didn’t sleep for days on end? Why would they care? I could do what I wanted! _No you can’t, you’re basically sectioned right now, why would you ever be allowed to do what you wanted?_

“No, no actually we can’t. You’re too exhausted to have a session right now, so I’m stopping it here so you can sleep instead.” _Yay, she’s leaving early!_

“Come on then, up you get! You’re going to bed right now and getting some rest.” She didn’t pull me up, but stood over me and glared, just daring me to disagree. _She looks like an interrogator, don’t you think?_ No, generally they looked like they could scare someone; she looked like I could snap her like a twig with my bare hands. **Bit not good that.**

“I’m not taking no for an answer, come on, unless you want to sleep in your chair, which is not going to be a good idea. It’s best you just get up and follow me now.” Hardwick would not stop jeering me along until I actually got up and followed her to my bedroom, where she all but forced me into bed with just words.

_Like she’d risk touching you when you’re so dangerous. She’s just talking because it’s safer._ I didn’t give a shit, I _wasn't_ sleeping, I’d lie down to stop her talking but I wasn't actually going to sleep. She could sod right off if she thought I was going to sleep now just because she told me too.

“How am I expected to sleep if you’re staring at me exactly?” I glared when she decided to settle down in a chair next to my bed.

“You’re so tired you’ll drop off anyway. I’m just making sure you actually _stay_ in bed and fall asleep, instead of reading like you usually do. I’m not going to leave until I see you drop off, no amount of pushing is going to make me either, so you may as well get sleeping over and done with.” She was just _asking_ for trouble with that! Did she even know what kind of danger she was putting herself in by doing this?! _Of course not, **you** didn’t bother to tell her in self preservation. _

“I’m not sleeping if you stare at me, go away.” I wanted her to go right now, if she was forcing this, she had to _leave._ Everyone had to leave!

“You will, and I will leave the minute I know you’re actually asleep, and I’ll close the door so you’re not disturbed. I want to guarantee that you are actually asleep because you’re far too slippery right now, you’ll find your way out of it. If I sit here, you’ve got no way to worm your way out of it.” Hardwick looked smug, and in that moment I _hated_ her. She shouldn’t have been forcing this; it was going to end _so_ badly! So, so damn _badly._

But she would not take no for an answer, and I barely had the energy to argue with her. I had no energy whatsoever to argue, and somehow, I dropped off to sleep, exhaustion getting the better of me.

_“Tell us why you’re here and you’ll sleep. You want to sleep, don’t you?” My captor hissed in my ear, yanking on my hair._

_I didn’t reply, spitting blood out of my mouth instead, forcing my legs to stay upright. I couldn’t stand for much longer. I was so tired, I was so, **so** tired. _

_“Playing it that way are we? Alright then, if you insist.” He swung the lead pipe into my side, cracking ribs with a sickening sound, pain flaring up my side. I cried out in agony, wishing he’d **stop** and let me go. I wanted to go home, I wanted to go **home** and sleep. I wanted to be close to John again, I wanted to be safe and away from all this agony. _

_My captor left soon afterwards, turning on all the lights in the room, the collective light blinding and the buzzing making me want to rip my ears off. It was so **loud** and so **bright,** I couldn’t see, it felt like I couldn’t breathe or even stand anymore. I had to get out of here, I had to! But how?! I had to get out of these chains and run for it. But could I do it? I was so weak, on the point of collapse. _

_I had to try. I had to get out or die trying; I couldn’t take this any longer._

_So I started pulling on my chains, inching them away from the walls until I could detach them from the stone. They were loud and heavy on my arms, but I couldn’t think about that now, I just had to **move.**_

_“The prisoner is escaping! Sherlock is escaping! Get him before he gets out!” calls rang out through the corridors as I ran, shooting the men in my way until I got to door. But standing in front of it was the man I was hoping to avoid, my torturer, he was right in front of me, smirking evilly._

_I aimed and fired the gun, only getting a click in return. I tried again and again, getting nothing._

_“All out Sherlock? Looks like we’ll do this the old fashioned way.” He smirked, his accent sounding distinctly more English than before._

_I couldn’t think about that though, he was my only way out of here, I had to take him down and I’d be **free.** So I jumped, attacking with speed and agility, getting pinned early on, but fighting back, hitting him in the shoulder, getting a cry in agony. _

_I used the momentary distraction to flip him over._

_“Sherlock stop! Sherlock it’s me! Sherlock stop!” The newly accented torturer begged, pushing against my hands._

_“Not a chance.” I squeezed my hands around his neck, choking the air out of his lungs, the carpet burning my fingers and catching against my nails._

_“It’s John, its John Sherlock! Stop!”  He choked, turning blood red._

_“Liar!” I snarled, John was in London, he wasn't in Serbia, he was safe and this man was a liar!_

_“William! William stop! Look a-around you!” The liar begged, shoving my head upwards._

_This wasn't... this wasn't Serbia... I was in my room in Mycroft’s house! I looked back down at the man I was choking._

It was John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments/kudos!  
> I'm going to sound a bit like a fan girl now, but hey, it's what I am, so I'm embracing it. But I want to give a quick (and big) shout out to McFly, who turn 12 as a band today. They helped me discover fandom, and in turn fan fiction, which started me off writing and completely changed my life. I don't know where I would be without them, but all I know is that I'd certainly be very lonely and probably very depressed, and definitely not writing this, or anything else! So all my work is basically down to them, thanks boys!


	129. Chapter 129

128 John's POV

Work dragged as it always did, filled with yet more people worried that their colds were actually the flu, despite having had the jab and only having a runny nose. Sometimes I wondered why I bothered with being here, and then remembered that someone had to pay the bills, and it was a small bit of normal in this mad world I lived in. A mad world where my best friend could be resurrected from the dead and be left in pieces because of what he did in those missing two years. Where he could go from stoic and enigmatic to screaming at me to kill him because he wanted... I didn’t even know what he wanted. I didn’t want to think about what Sherlock wanted that day, he denied now that he actually wanted to die, but in that moment, I hadn’t been too sure about that.

The thought of what could have happened that day still haunted me, thinking about what Sherlock could have done to himself if we hadn’t have gotten there when we did. He could have died, could have _actually_ died this time, at least hurt himself. I would have never forgiven myself for letting him die after last time. Sherlock had ‘died’ once before, he wasn't doing it again. At least not until he was eighty and grey, and I don’t know, tending to bee hives in Sussex.

The thought made me snort on the way to Mycroft’s, like Sherlock was ever going to retire, or keep something like _bees._ The pratt would most probably keep going with this detective stuff until the day he dropped dead... unless he didn’t want that anymore, after everything that had happened, I wouldn’t blame him if he never wanted to go near the Yard, or near violent deaths again. He’d been affected by it so badly in the last year, maybe he would never want to go near that again... Oh God, I’d never thought of that, should I have thought of that? What would we do without the consulting work? What was Sherlock without his work?

“Doctor Watson, we have arrived.” The driver broke my thoughts, holding my door open.

“Oh, sorry, I was... I was thinking.” I apologised, grabbing the takeaway bag filled with good old fashioned fish and chips, heading towards Sherlock’s room.

As always, I met Mycroft on the way, who informed me of how Sherlock’s day had gone.

“As of half past one this afternoon, Sherlock fell asleep, Doctor Hardwick seemed to think that he needed the rest more than he needed a session today. Nobody has heard much out of him since.” He informed me from his position against the door frame to the front room.

“Wow, really? He’s gone to sleep in the middle of the day _willingly?_ ” That was something I hadn’t been expecting.

“He’s willingly gone to sleep yes. Sherlock hasn’t slept properly in a long day, and hasn’t had a night’s sleep since he arrived. So it was best for him to have a few hours now before he collapsed.” Mycroft answered, _ouch._

“He's still not really settled in, is he?” I sighed, wishing that Sherlock could settle himself a little.

“He’s living under my roof, and isn’t allowed to go back to his home, of course he isn’t settled in. It’s still infinitely better for him here than it is in another facility though, he has some form of control and less rules here, as well as the promise that his sensory needs are adhered to without compromise.” Mycroft sighed with me, “He may not like it here, but he’d like a facility even less.”

“You sound like you talk from experience.” I wondered just how many times this had happened, how many times had Sherlock needed therapy.

“Let’s just say, I’ve seen what happens to my brother in facilities. Some cater to his needs, others don’t, but all that changes is how long he’s actually in the facility before he has to be moved.” Mycroft answered blandly, I sometimes wondered if he was ever affected by anything Sherlock did. He always seemed so... emotionless at it all. My best guess was that he did actually have emotions; he just suppressed more than Sherlock did to remain ‘the ice man’ persona.

“Sounds like fun to deal with... Sherlock in his room then? Doesn’t suppose I can go in for a bit, check up on him and all that?” I changed the subject, feeling too awkward to even think about Mycroft being emotional.

“Go ahead, though if you wake him up, you can deal with the inevitable sulk.” Mycroft shrugged and left, so I headed down to Sherlock's bedroom.

I hadn’t been in there very often, only once or twice since Sherlock moved in, sort of like when we lived together in 221b. It didn’t really feel right to invade Sherlock’s room whenever I liked, it felt more like his private space, always had done. To step into his room uninvited was like stepping into his brain, highly uncomfortable and a huge invasion of privacy. Though this time, that idea of invasion could have come from the fact that there were still guards outside, like they were protecting Sherlock... or keeping him inside and out the way of others.

The thought made me shudder, still convinced that Sherlock wasn't all that dangerous when he was kept calm. He lashed out sometimes yes, but it was only when he was stressed and scared. Keep him away from stressing and scary things, and we’d all be okay, I was sure of it.

“Mind if I go through?” I asked the guards, they shrugged and let me inside the dark room with no issues.

The curtains had been closed in the room, and all the lights were turned off, so it was quite dark in the room. Though I could still see a large human shaped lump on the bed, wrapped around the duvet with only Sherlock’s dark curls spilling out the top. He looked reasonably relaxed for once, hands only loosely holding on his duvet. He looked younger too, almost like he was innocent, a word I’d have never used to describe Sherlock. It made me smile to myself; it was nice to see Sherlock with his guard down at last, getting the rest he desperately needed.

Of course, the calm didn’t last longer than five minutes.

Sherlock soon tensed up, curling into himself with a whimper as his face scrunched up. At first, I dismissed it as another sleep thing, but when another whimper came out, this time sounding pained, I turned to see what was up.

“No, no. Can’t... no. I have, I have to try, no.” Sherlock whined, twisting himself on his sheets. He whimpered again, crying out in definite pain this time, twisting himself up further.

“Hey Sherlock, it’s alright. It’s just me.” I whispered to him, not touching him quite yet.

“No, no, please.” Sherlock cried out again, definitely in distress.

“Right, old fashioned way.” I really didn’t want to wake Sherlock up, but I didn’t want him to freak out in his sleep and be put off doing it even more. “Sherlock, come on, wake up time. You’re having a nightmare mate, time to wake up.” I shook his shoulder, a skinny hand grabbing onto my arm.

I shook him a few more times, but getting nowhere with waking him up further.

“Sherlock, come on, you’re in a nightmare, you need to wake up now.” I coaxed, the hand tightening on my arm. _Please wake up, please wake up. Come on, wake up and don’t freak out._

Before I had time to process it, I was flipped onto the floor, Sherlock on top of me. I panicked, but pushed Sherlock off, scrambling to get him under me, pinning his arms down.

“Sherlock no! It’s me, stop it and wake up!” I shook him again, praying he woke up soon. I didn’t want the guards in here to scare him, so he had to wake up _now!_

Sherlock’s hand worked its way out of mine, hitting me straight in my injured shoulder, pain flared up in the healed wound and I cried out, getting flipped over and slammed back onto the floor.

“Sherlock stop! Sherlock it’s me! Sherlock stop!” I begged him, pushing desperately against him.

“Not a chance.” Sherlock hissed, crazed eyes sparking as he wrapped his hands around my neck. SHIT!

“It’s John, its John Sherlock! Stop!” I choked out, hitting at him desperately, I couldn’t move, I couldn’t breathe!

“Liar!” Sherlock snarled, pushing down further on my windpipe. My vision started to blur, I couldn’t breathe, I needed air, I needed air!

“William! William stop! Look a-around you!” I begged, managing to shove his head upwards, forcing him to look around the room.

His hands loosened, air rushing back into my lungs, coughs starting to hack through my chest.

“I... John?” Sherlock whispered, scared eyes widening when he saw me, _finally_ saw me.

“It’s me, it’s me Sherlock. You, you had... a nightmare.” I coughed, heaving in as much air as possible, my entire body feeling weak and ready for collapse.

“You... I... I wasn't... shit, shit, shit, _fuck,_ I’m sorry John! I’m so sorry! I didn’t realise, I thought you were... Oh God I’m so sorry! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!” Sherlock sobbed, reaching out to touch me, the door slamming open, guards streaming in. I wasn't going to hold out much longer, I was going to pass out any second.

“Take your bloody time.” I wheezed, before the darkness over took and I passed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments and the kudos!


	130. Chapter 130

129 Sherlock's POV                                                                                            

Without even realising it, I ended up in the bathroom, back to the door, heaving in hysterical breaths as I realised what I’d just done. I’d just hurt John, I’d just nearly _strangled John to death._ He’d just... I’d nearly killed him; I’d nearly killed John over a nightmare...

_You **monster,** you evil, psychopathic monster! You just nearly killed your best friend! The only person in the world who ever bothered with you and you just nearly killed him! What the hell did you think you were doing?! _I, I thought he was someone from Serbia, I thought I was still dreaming. I... I was scared, I had been so _scared,_ I thought I was in Serbia again. Oh God I thought that John was one of my torturers _again._

_You know what you’ve done now, don’t you? By attacking John, you’ve now proven to him that you’re a psychopath. If giving him a concussion hadn’t been bad enough, you’ve now nearly killed him. He’s going to despise you now, and never, ever come back. Then guess what he’s going to do, he’s going to tell **everyone** what you did, warn everyone away. Nobody is going to want to see you ever again; you’ve just lost everyone by proving that you’re a monster. Well done. _

Oh God, oh God _no._ This wasn't... I hadn’t meant it! I hadn’t meant to do this! This hadn’t been what I wanted! I’d been dreaming, I’d just been dreaming! I hadn’t wanted to hurt John, just like I hadn’t meant to hurt him last time, or Lestrade earlier on! _You’ve attacked two out of the three people you died to protect. What would have been the point of dying if you killed them instead? It would have all been for **nothing.**_

“Sherlock? Sherlock come out of there!” Mycroft banged on the door; _he wants to take you away from here because you’re dangerous. He’s going to lock you up like an animal because that’s what you do to monsters that endanger people around them._

“G-Go away! Please go away!” I sobbed, everything echoing around the room so loudly. The sound of Mycroft banging on the door and shouting, John’s voice in my head, my heavy breathing, it was deafening, hurting my ears, _just like Serbia._

“Sherlock you’re having a panic attack. You need to calm down before something happens.” Mycroft instructed. _Something already has happened! You’ve just nearly killed your best friend like a psychopath!_

“Sherlock listen to me! Calm down, John is fine, he’s getting seen to by a doctor, and he will be okay. So calm down!”

It wasn't that simple! I couldn’t calm down, I was a monster, I’d just nearly killed my best friend, I wasn't going to see him ever again! I’d just proven I was a psychopath, how was I supposed to calm down?! I couldn’t calm down!

“William open this door this instant!” Mycroft rattled the handle, everything still reverberating around the bathroom.

_You know what they do to psychopaths like you? They kill them. They’re going to kill you because you’re a psychopathic murderer who can’t even resist trying to kill your best friend._

“William! Calm down and open this door!”              

_Murderer_

_Psychopath_

_Freak_

_Killer_

The banging got louder, more urgent, the whole room feeling like it was spinning wildly and closing in tighter and tighter. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t move, this wasn't... I couldn’t cope with all of this! I hadn’t meant for this to happen! I hadn’t meant for any of this to happen! I’d just been trying to sleep! I hadn’t meant to attack John; I hadn’t meant to hurt him! It had been a dream, it had tripped me up and scared me, I hadn’t been able to tell what was real from what wasn't! I hadn’t meant to hurt anybody! _Too late for that now stupid. You just attacked and nearly killed John because of a bloody dream! What kind of whack job psycho does that?!_

“William! William listen to me, you’re not in trouble, but you’re having a panic attack and if you don’t calm down soon you are going to pass out. You need to open this door so we can help you breathe and calm down.” It was all so loud, I couldn’t shut it off; I couldn’t stop the world spinning wildly, my thoughts rushing. Everything hurt; it felt like Serbia all over again with the wall of sound they played every day to keep me awake. I couldn’t stand it! It needed to stop! I wanted it all to stop! Why couldn’t it stop?! Why couldn’t anything stop?!

“Make it stop! Please make it stop!” I sobbed as I begged; feeling like my head was going to explode at any second.

“I can make it stop Sherlock, just come out the door and I can make it stop.” Mycroft answered, _he’s going to make it stop by putting a bullet in your brain!_ NO!

“Please Sherlock, come out and we can fix this. I can help you fix this, but I need you to come out so you can calm down. It’s all I need you to do for now. Come out and we can calm you down.” Mycroft promised, _he’s going to kill you out there. Everything he promised was a lie, he’s going to kill you because you’re a murderer._

I just wanted it to stop, all the noise, all the voices, all the attacking. I wanted to be able to _sleep_ without endangering someone, I didn’t care anymore, I just wanted it all to stop.

With a shaking hand, I reached for the door, slowly opening it to reveal my brother and several guards. “P-Please, just make it go away. M-Make it a-all go away.” I begged him, I needed him to take it all away, whatever the cost, I wanted it all _gone._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments and the kudos!   
> Just a reminder too that if you don't have an account here you can tweet me @corruptedpov or leave me a message on tumblr - effulgentcorruptedpov :D


	131. Chapter 131

130 Mycroft's POV

I had to force myself to not react too much at my brother’s pleading, or seeing the tears falling down his pale face. He looked _broken,_ and like he’d lost all hope in everything. I hadn’t seen Sherlock look like this in years, since well... since his last rehab trip.

“I can make it go away, come out here and we can make everything go away.” I wasn't exactly sure just how much we could make of this go away for Sherlock. But for now, I could get him in a deeper sleep where he couldn’t cause any more trouble for himself or John.

“We’re going to give you some medication so you can sleep without any episodes for now, then tomorrow we’re going to start you on the medications you were supposed to be on. They’re going to help you get rid all of this.” I wanted to go over there and hold him close, hide him from his own thoughts like a child. But right now, if I got anywhere near Sherlock, I could tell it would cause him to kick off and have another panic attack. He was just about breathing now; I wasn't going to have him pass out over a simple touch.

“O-Okay,” Sherlock nodded, hugging himself, both hands tapping out patterns against opposite arms.

One of the guards came over, armed with sleeping medication in the form of pills, as I had a feeling injection needles were going to send the wrong message. Sherlock took them without complaint, something I had only half expected of him. With that, he wordlessly fell back onto his bed, not bothering to cover himself with the duvet.

“I shall inform you of John’s condition when you wake.” I told him and left, all the guards leaving with me. “Don’t let anybody back in until morning, if Sherlock wants to get out, make sure he’s fully awake and alert first. Once he’s awake, he’s allowed to do as he pleases.” I ordered them, heading down to John’s current resting place.

“Shall I contact Doctor Hardwick about Plan B Sir?” Anthea asked, already texting.

“Yes, I think that would be best. Inform her of everything, and ask if Plan B is ready.” I agreed, her fingers starting to tap out a long message to Sherlock’s doctor, and no doubt everyone else who needed to help us make the necessary arrangements.

I wasn't going to let my brother down this time, and I was going to get him better no matter what. Though, I was still going to respect his wishes, and keep him here unless he said otherwise. It was clear that he needed some extra help, and that was where Plan B came in, something I had kept waiting in the wings for several months now. I had to hope that Sherlock would accept it and it would help him, or I was really going to be stuck with him.

“How is our patient?” I asked my resident doctor once I had reached the spare room John was being kept in.

The man in question was laying on the bed, hooked up to an oxygen mask, the early signs of a bruise forming around his slightly swollen throat. Though, he was now awake which was a very good sign.

“He’s doing as well as can be expected, John will take a few days to recover, but he’ll need to be monitored for at least a week, to make sure nothing untoward is happening in his windpipe.” The doctor explained.

“I’ll be fine, how’s Sherlock?” John croaked out, voice hindered by the mask.

“In a medication induced sleep which should keep him under for a solid eight hours.” I answered, running my eyes over John, just in case he was having adverse effects and not telling anybody.

“And mentally?” John raised an eyebrow.

“Exhausted and incredibly disturbed.” I replied, “Ready for Plan B, which will be implemented as soon as he is back on the medications.”

“Shit, alright. And we’re sure that this is going to do him some good, because he backed out of it when I suggested it, said it ended badly.” John pulled the mask off, making the doctor glare at him. He tactfully ignored him; acting like it was just a meeting between the two of us.

“I can persuade him to give it a chance, if that doesn’t work...” I started.

“Bombard him with the science to prove it works?” John interrupted; I missed the good old days when he was too scared to answer back to me. It made for much better conversation.

“Yes, basically.” I nodded.                              

“Sounds like a plan... I hope it works though, I’ve seen it work so many times, but Sherlock is... well, he’s _Sherlock._ He’s not like most other people, he could I don’t know... I don’t even want to think about what could happen if he doesn’t like this.” John put the mask back on, having become short of breath half way through his speech.

“This worked exceptionally well when Sherlock was a boy, I have faith in it working now too, Doctor Hardwick does too, and she is an expert in this field.” I reassured him, I wouldn’t even be entertaining this idea if I hadn’t accounted for Sherlock being a curveball throwing pain in my neck. I had seen the wonders of similar programmes working on him before, I was sure it would work again here.

“Alright, I guess if a Holmes reckons it’ll go well, it’ll go well.” John smiled weakly, “Is there anything I can do to help out?”

“Rest up, be ready for Sherlock’s reactions to our new plan for him, and seeing you again. He’s going to wake up in one of two ways. Either he will be very, very on edge, especially when he sees you again, or he is going to be stuck in a shutdown. Be prepared for both, neither is very nice to experience, Mummy can attest to that.” Sherlock’s meltdowns and shutdowns upset her _so_ much; she blamed herself for so much of it, driving herself to far too many crying sessions.

Shutdowns always upset her the most, more than anything else we had ever faced with Sherlock’s various issues. I was almost certain that hurt her more than seeing him overdosing on cocaine, if he went that way tomorrow, I was going to have to hide it from her as well. I was going to be in so much trouble with her if she found out how much she was in the dark about...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments and the kudos!   
> I updated 'The Powers That Be - Oneshots' on wattpad if anybody wants to check that out too! If you do, please let me know what you think!


	132. Chapter 132

131 John's POV

I managed to catch a few hours sleep between worrying about the next day and the pain in my throat. I couldn’t quite believe that _Sherlock had strangled me;_ he’d actually tried to strangle me to death. If I hadn’t had stopped him when I did... I dreaded to think what would have happened, and what would have happened to him.

Sherlock was going to be in such a mess when he woke up, he’d been in a state when he realised what he had done earlier, what would he be like when he woke up? I hoped calmer, I _prayed_ for calmer, just to stop it being such a fight in the morning. But I doubted it so much, doubted Sherlock was going to be able to cope with what had happened, he hadn’t coped at any previous point when he hurt one of us, but this time... oh this time was going to be worse.

Eventually, morning rolled round and I got myself up, finding some of my clothes at the end of my bed. I shouldn’t have been surprised, but I found I was, just a small bit mind, I was staying in the same house as _Mycroft Holmes_ after all.

So I dressed and made my way downstairs, finding an easy breakfast already set out, Mycroft reading through some files at the head of the table.

“No sign of Sherlock then?” I asked, taking eating slowly, just in case.

“None as of yet. He’s still asleep, and has been all night.” Mycroft answered without looking up from his files. Did the man ever stop working!? “Yes I do stop working sometimes, but right now I am reviewing research into Sherlock’s new therapy, in case I need it to convince him of our plan.”

“That’s never not going to be slightly creepy. And that’s good, about Sherlock. No signs of nightmares or anything?” I asked, really glad that Mycroft had lightened up on me recently. Before, I’d been scared to say a word out of place, but now it felt more like it had done before Sherlock faked his death, where I could call him out on his ridiculous shit. Though, it wasn't a fun without Sherlock laughing by my side... I’d rectify that soon.

“Video footage indicates that Sherlock slept soundly through the night.” Mycroft answered, “And I would prefer it if you came with me to wake him. You have a way with him, even when he’s at his worst, which I think will be to our advantage in this situation.”

“Of course, I was expecting to come along anyway.” I couldn’t think of not going in to wake Sherlock this morning, if not just to show him that I was okay.

I finished breakfast and followed Mycroft up to Sherlock’s room again, even after a few weeks; I was still in awe of the mansion Mycroft lived in. It was _huge;_ it had different _wings_ to it for God sake! And to be honest, it was completely what I expected from Mycroft, a huge, sprawling mansion without much personalisation and with far too many rooms for one man. It made me wonder about his and Sherlock’s childhood, if they had grown up in a similar house, how lonely would that have been, two boys and all this space. Though, with Sherlock’s curiosity and love for experiments, maybe that had been a good thing.

Sherlock was curled up on his side when we entered, his back to us. He wasn't moving much, only breathing, I couldn’t tell if he was still sleeping or not. Though apparently Mycroft could, because he swore under his breath. I turned to look at him, wondering what he was seeing that I wasn't, when he made a motion at me, meaning to follow him.

Getting closer to Sherlock, I saw that he had his eyes open, but he wasn't looking at us, he was looking _through_ us instead, like we weren’t even there. His hands were gripping his blanket in a death grip, but other than that, he wasn't moving at all. What the _hell?_

“Sherlock, it’s time to wake up now, you’re late for breakfast.” Mycroft said in the softest voice I’d ever heard him use. He bent down to Sherlock’s eye level, and rested his hand gently on his brother’s arm. Sherlock moved his arm away, though not turning to look at us, or making a sound in protest.

“Come on brother mine, there are things to do today, we have a surprise for you.” Mycroft continued speaking in the soft voice; it was like he was talking to a child.

“Mycroft, what’s wrong with him?” I was thinking it was a reaction to whatever Sherlock had been given yesterday, but if that was true, Mycroft wouldn’t be talking like this. Was this the shutdown Mycroft had been talking about last night? That didn’t seem entirely like a bad guess, but at the same time, this was not what I was expecting. I didn’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn't this, wasn't Sherlock lying here silently, looking like he wasn't even in the room, yet reacting to touch.

“This is the shutdown I was telling you about last night.” Mycroft answered, continually running his hand up and down Sherlock’s arm.

“I didn’t... I’ve never seen him do this before.” I didn’t really understand, I hadn’t seen Sherlock look like this before. If he was upset, he sulked; he hadn’t done this after any other violent outburst either. This wasn't what I was expecting of him, to be honest; I didn’t know what I was expecting of him either. But it was scary to see him lying so still, it was like he was one step up from catatonic, was this a normal thing for him, if so, how hadn’t I noticed?!

“Sherlock hasn’t felt the need to shut the world out for a long time, since before he met you. This usually happened when the world was too much for him to handle, and I think yesterday proved itself to be too harsh.” Mycroft didn’t take his eyes off of Sherlock.

“Can he hear us or anything?” I whispered, fearful of what was happening. I’d never really come across this in my time as a doctor, or seen it in the army, and Mycroft seemed to know what was going on, I wanted and needed to find out.

“Yes, Sherlock is perfectly awake, he’s just stuck inside his head,” Mycroft answered, “Aren’t you brother dear? Now come on, up you get, it’s past eight in the morning. If you hurry, you won’t miss breakfast.” That was directed more towards the body on the bed, getting nothing but another twitch.

“Alright then, back to routines it is.” the elder Holmes grumbled, “Okay William, let’s pretend last night was a normal night shall we? So what did you do? You ate some dinner with John, then brushed your teeth, then changed from your suit to your pyjamas, then you read from one of your books, and then went to sleep at midnight. It is now seven thirty, what do you do at seven thirty?” Again, he was back to his soft talking-to-a-child voice, which was _slightly_ creepy coming from Mycroft.

Sherlock took a few seconds to think, his face twisting in thought. “I get up.” he whispered.

“And then what do you do?” Mycroft prompted.

“I brush my teeth, and then I shower, and then I get dressed in nice clothes. Has to be nice clothes, Mummy always said to look presentable in case of guests.” Sherlock started mumbling his entire routine, slowly getting up and moving into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

“What just happened?” I still didn’t have a clue what had just happened there. I never thought that I’d hear _Sherlock_ go almost catatonic and then start repeating a routine after Mycroft prompted him. It reminded me of what happened with autistic people after a sensory overload, where the people around them had to coax them out of their own heads. But Sherlock wasn't autistic, I was sure I would have noticed if Sherlock was autistic... I would have noticed, surely I would have noticed.

“That was something that only Sherlock can tell you when he is ready to. Though I suspect you already have an idea, you’re a doctor after all.” Mycroft answered, was he hinting that I was right? Or was it... had I just witness Sherlock having an autistic shutdown?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In regards to Sherlock's shutdown in this chapter, I have never experienced one myself, or seen one up close. The whole incident was inspired by an episode of Alphas where Gary, a guy similar to Sherlock's age with autism, has a shutdown after an awful experience. I did some research into it, but couldn't find much else, or even if shutdowns occur in all forms of autism, so I may be completely wrong here. If I am, please do let me know where I've gone wrong so I can keep it in mind in the future!


	133. Chapter 133

132 Sherlock's POV

_You just let John see you having a shutdown; he’s going to think that you’re a freak now if he didn’t already. He just saw a damn **shutdown** because you can’t handle stress. _I’d just hurt him last night, I couldn’t... I couldn’t take knowing it, I had wanted out for a while. _And so you shutdown so badly **Mycroft** had to sort you out with a damn repetition of **routines** like you’re five years old again. What does that say about you? What does that mean for your treatment? _

I started brushing my teeth.

_After yesterday’s disaster I doubt you’re staying here, and now you’ve topped it off with a bloody shutdown. You’re going to a facility now, for sure. A facility where you can’t hurt anybody anymore, or have another shutdown. They’re going to drug you up with so many medications it’s going to be like you’re catatonic; you can’t hurt anybody if you’re catatonic. Only disappoint, by fulfilling everyone’s predictions, that you’re a **freak** and a **psychopath** , who needs to be drugged up to the eyeballs so you can’t hurt anyone ever again. _

Please stop talking, oh God _please_ stop talking! I didn’t want to think about what was going to happen to me now, where I was going, or any of it. That was why I had... _checked out,_ for a while. I didn’t want to face it, everything had been too much, everything was _always_ too much right now. I wanted an escape, I wanted it to all stop!

“Sherlock, is everything alright in there?” Mycroft called through the door, he was standing watch outside the room while I showered now?!

_Of course he is, he’s got to make sure you don’t hurt yourself, or escape whatever fate is waiting for you. He could get a guard to do it, but hey, he’s always enjoyed watching you act like a special needs freak up close._

“Fine.” I grunted at him, speech was hard right now; I didn’t want to process words or think about conversations at this moment in time.

“Good, now can we hurry along a little bit? There’s a lot to do today, and we need to have a chat.” Mycroft sounded smug, _it’s the perfect opportunity to gloat about how sane he is, how he was right all along, that you are stupid and a freak. How much of your childhood did he spend gloating about how normal he was, how you were going to end up in a facility far away from everything you love because you’re incapable of being a human being? It’s all coming true; of course he’s smug about it!_

I forced myself to stand still for a few seconds, heaving in supposedly calming breaths, willing myself to not break down. This was not a time for a break down, I’d had enough of break downs, I wasn't giving anybody the satisfaction. _Or giving John another chance to see that you’re a freak. You’re lucky he’s still here, and not back at Baker Street telling everyone what you did to him._

With one last breath, I forced myself out of the bathroom, getting dressed in one of my suits, resolutely ignoring my brother. We were going to be forced into a talk, but he could wait for me to be ready, and that would be after I was dressed. If I was leaving here and going off to some facility somewhere far away, I was doing it with dignity, and comfortably. And I couldn’t leave without getting dressed either, John was here, he was a guest, I must be presentable around a guest. _Better do that seeing as it’s the last time you will ever seen him, you’re lucky he’s still here after what you did._

“We’re not going anywhere Sherlock, there’s no need for shoes.” Mycroft sighed as I reached for them... I wasn't going anywhere?

“No, you’re not leaving the house unless you want to so there’s no need for shoes and socks. Now if we can move along downstairs, I’d be very grateful, I do have several things that need to be seen to desperately.” He hurried me along, I felt like a man going to his execution as I followed him to the kitchen. _Probably appropriate. Mycroft didn’t say anything against you getting drugged into catatonia today, he just said you weren’t going anywhere, which would be technically true._

“Hey Sherlock, feeling any better now?” John was leaning against the counter with a smile, an almost-normal-and-not-faked smile. Something was going on, something had been planned and it wasn't pleasant. _Why would you be given something pleasant for attacking John exactly?! Look at that bruising around his neck, hear how croaky he is. You caused that, you did that to him with your bare hands._ Oh God the bruising looked so bad, discolouring John’s neck in the shape of hand prints, _my_ hand prints. I’d done that to him, oh my God _why_ did I do that to him?! And how?!

“I-I guess,” I couldn’t look at him, not while knowing that I’d caused all that bruising, guilt forcing its way into my chest, cutting off half the air supply, “Are... I, I’m sorry for... for doing that.” I couldn’t even speak properly, so scared for what was going to happen now, what John thought of me, how much I’d hurt him. Not even twelve hours ago I was choking the life out of him; I couldn’t face what he thought of me now. _More like you’re too guilty to look at him and see what you did. He’s covered in bruises and obviously injured and it’s YOUR FAULT!_

“I know you are. And that’s why we’re going to talk now, we’ve had an idea.” John started, though keeping his distance. _Good choice that. Stay away from the dangerous psychopath._

“And we need you to listen to what we’re saying and give this a chance. All of us think it’ll be a beneficial treatment to you, and I know it’s done wonders for you in the past.” What the hell was Mycroft on about?! What had he done? I couldn’t remember any sort of treatment that had worked for me in the past; I hadn’t needed treatment for anything like this in the past!

There was the sound of paws walking on the floor, four paws... Then Hardwick came in, with a _dog._ An actual golden retriever, at about eighteen months old... a dog? I was being given a _dog?_

“Sherlock, say hello to your new therapy dog.”

I was being given a therapy dog!?           

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments/kudos!   
> In case you missed it, I updated 'The Powers That Be - Oneshots' on wattpad last week, my username is mydreamsofwriting if you want to check it out!


	134. Chapter 134

133 Sherlock's POV

Oh no, no, I didn’t want a dog! I didn’t want a dog, I couldn’t have another one! I didn’t want another Redbeard situation; I didn’t want to grow to love a dog, to have it ripped from me again while I wasn't paying attention! I couldn’t... What was the point in having a dog anyway?! How was it a _therapy_ dog and how was it going to supposedly help me? It wouldn’t work, it wasn't... this wasn't happening, I didn’t want a dog!

“Sherlock, it’s okay, I know this is it a bit confusing, but we can explain.” John stepped a bit closer, the dog looked between the two of us innocently.

“I-I, I can’t have... It’s not...” I didn’t know how to even start to protest this. I couldn’t have a dog, I couldn’t do it again. _The dog will go quickly anyway, Mycroft’s a neat freak; he’s not going to allow a dog to roam his house for very long. If you let this happen, you’ll start to love the dog and it’ll get snatched just like Redbeard._

“He’s a specially trained therapy dog Sherlock, he’s been trained to help people in your position, to help with nightmares and things that make them anxious. He’s here to help you with all sorts of problems, and to provide some company when you need it.” Hardwick explained, rubbing the dog’s side, who wagged his tail in pleasure.

“No, no he’ll be... I can’t,” I didn’t understand, I’d said before I didn’t want a dog for anything, I still didn’t want one. I wanted to get back to whatever version of normal I could, without all these voices and violent outbursts, how would a dog help with that?! It didn’t make sense to even suggest it. I didn’t understand! _Maybe it’s an attempt to give you some sort of friend now that you can’t be around people anymore._ But I was around people now. _For how long though? How long before John leaves? He could just be staying until this whole dog thing has been properly set into place, like a good doctor, before he leaves and doesn’t come back, because you hurt him._

“He won’t be taken from you, not like Redbeard. I would not have even entertained the thought of bringing an animal into my house if I couldn’t handle the mess it creates. I do not mind the fact that there will be a dog in the house, and therefore will not take him from you. He won’t ever be taken from you, even after you’ve gained control of yourself and your thoughts.” Mycroft sounded like he was telling the truth, but he was such a good liar... _Mycroft always lies, he lies and lies and lies. He only deems to tell the truth when it hurts you, like when he told you that Redbeard was **dead.** _

“He... He... _Redbeard._ ” I couldn’t have another Redbeard! I couldn’t have another best friend taken like that. Not after losing him, and now that John was probably making a final exit while taking everyone else with him, and I _couldn’t_ have another dog, just to lose him again in a few years. _If you’re lucky enough to have him that long._

There was a nudging at my hand; I looked down to see the Retriever pushing at my hand with his head, like he was begging me to pet him. I pushed my hands into my pockets, I was _not_ going to interact with him and start to like him, I refused to risk it. The dog whined in response, deciding to curl up beside my leg, close enough that I could feel his warmth. Oh _God_ it had been so long since someone had sat that close to me, or wanted to touch me without any reason to. It had been so long, and it felt so _good..._ No! _Resist, resist it all!_

“I can’t! I can’t!” This was not something I wanted! I wanted to stop the violent outbursts, the voices in my head, the nightmares, not be given a dog!

“You can Sherlock, he’s here to help.” John encouraged, he looked so hopeful, everybody did. They all looked like they wanted me to accept this; didn’t anybody but me understand what kind of disaster this would be? Why was I the only one thinking practically here?

There was no way I could look after a dog, and even if I could, what was the point of having him? To give me someone to talk to? That worked wonders when I was a child, but I wasn't a child anymore. This dog couldn’t help me with my nightmares, couldn’t stop the flashbacks, get the voices out of my head, or stop me being violent. And that was going on the idea that Mycroft could stand it! He had hated Redbeard, hated the mess and the noise he made with me, what would be different this time exactly? Especially now that he had the power to kick this dog out again! He’d take my dog away without a second’s thought, so what was really the point of even trying with it?

“Sherlock, he’s been trained to help. This dog has been trained to distract you when you’re getting wound up, and to wake you up if you’re having nightmares. He’s here to give you some more company, and something to focus on that is not therapy. When he was nudging your hand, that was him distracting you from the stress you were feeling. He’ll do that every time you get stressed, so you’re rerouting your attention to something better, so there aren’t any outbursts. Having this dog will really help you, especially when combined with therapy and the medications.” Hardwick explained, “I’ve seen it work several times with people far worse than you. He’s going to help.”

“This isn’t going to be another Redbeard, I won’t get rid of him, or force you to either. He’s now yours, and I’m not going to take him from you.” Mycroft promised, he didn’t usually promise _anything._

“Please just give it a try Sherlock. I’ve seen it work on others too, we’re not talking out of our arses when we’re saying it helps, because it genuinely does.” John joined in, the dog barking like it was agreeing.

I looked between them all, unsure of what to do with this, should I have agreed? I didn’t want to have another Redbeard situation, but at the same time, I wanted to get all of this out of the way, I wanted to be better...

“What’s his name?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments and the kudos! Also, I want to say a huge thank you to Nita for continuing to BETA this work, pointing out all the mistakes I (repeatedly) make and helping me to make my sentences flow better! Also a HUGE thank you to Southern Anon for sending me the motherload of information, stuff I wouldn't have found without her help, and sparking off an idea in my head!   
> If anybody else has any experience/insight into anything I'm writing about, if you wish to share, please do get in touch. I love hearing everybody's insights and any type of help is thoroughly appreciated, as it really helps me to shape everyone's emotions/actions!


	135. Chapter 135

134 Sherlock's POV

“His name is Loki.” Hardwick answered.

“The Norse God Of Mischief?” I wasn't quite sure why that was appropriate for a service dog, who was supposed to be providing calm.

“Yeah, this one was a little wild as a puppy, running maniacally all over the place; I thought it was appropriate for him.” Hardwick shrugged, running her hands over the dog’s fur.

“Sounds like a good name for a dog who follows us around too; with all the mad things we end up doing.” John smiled down at the dog. _He’s keeping up the pretence that you’re getting out of here at some point, going back to your old lives. How sweet of him to play pretend._

“Another reason why we chose him especially for you,” Mycroft sighed, “Now we should get down to the other part of your treatment programme. You can get to know your new pet and whatever else you wish to do later. We need to talk about medication.” _Fucking damn it._

“What am I being put on this time?” I wasn't even going to bother fighting it; I knew I needed them so I could calm down and get back to whatever was deemed as normal. I didn’t want to risk hurting John, or anybody else, ever again, I meant it when I said I wanted it all to stop. I wanted it all over, by any means necessary; even if that meant my brain function was compromised. This needed to stop, all of it did, if it meant I never thought properly again... well it would be worth it, just to make sure nobody ever got hurt by my hand again.

“Well, that’s what we want to also talk about with you, because we want you to be comfortable with the meds we put you on. I’ve tried my best to give some advice on what’s important to you brain wise, but we all figured it was best to talk to you properly.” John answered, I was actually getting a say in this? As in, an _actual_ say in this? _The whole world has gone completely insane._

“Don’t look so shocked Sherlock; of course we weren’t going to leave you out of the proceedings.” Mycroft rolled his eyes.

“It’s your treatment; we’re not going to exclude you from it.” Hardwick was smiling softly at me, what was with all the soft smiles? _They’re scared of you stupid. If they’re not nice to you, you’re going to get angsty, then angry, and then violent. It’s easier to just smile now and keep you calm so they don’t have to defend themselves against you later on._

“Right.” I still wasn't sure; I didn’t really know what it was like to be consulted on these things.

“For starters, I think we should try out some sort of sleeping medication, to help out with the nightmares,” John and I winced at that, “You’ve been avoiding sleep to avoid having them, so I want to give you something that’ll send you into a deep enough sleep so you don’t have them.”

“Impossible, dreams will come either way no matter what you try and give me. Only difference will be that I’ll be then _stuck_ in there and unable to wake up.” No way was I doing that, if I wanted to relive Serbia, I’d go back to bloody Serbia and find another criminal gang.

“Alright, how about something lighter that will help you drift off?” Hardwick bargained, “Loki is here to help with your nightmares when you have them, and we can talk about other coping strategies in your therapy, so the meds aren’t the only option here. Medication for sleep will only be a temporary thing, just to help you get more rest than you are right now.”

“Fine. What else are you planning for me?” I sighed, we’d go into actual conversations about which combination of drugs I was going on later, right now I wanted to hammer down exactly what I was getting medication for.

“Again, I think some anti-anxiety will really help you out. You’ve been on edge for _years,_ and you’re still so defensive of yourself, hence your violent turns,” Could she stop bloody mentioning it?! I knew I had some violent turns; the evidence was covering John’s neck! “So I want to give you some anti-anxiety meds to help you calm down and hopefully relax, so there are less panic attacks. Combined with Loki we should be able to curb most of the panicky turns.”

“Fine,” Anything to get rid of these violent turns. No more bruises on anybody I loved, no more getting so scared I attacked, or completely shut myself down _and let out the big autistic secret._ Loki nudged at my leg as I tensed.

“Great, and for now, I think that’s what I want to work with. I don’t want to suddenly overload you on medications,” _and make you an addict again,_ “and I want to put Loki to good use too, it’s what he’s here for, and work with you in therapy sessions. It’s going to be a big combined effort, so I think we should stick to the two medications for now, and see where it goes, is that alright with you?” Hardwick asked, I nodded, figuring that would be fine. If it stopped all this madness in my head, I didn’t care.

_Wait until you’re gibbering idiot, then we’ll talk again. Imagine it, being unable to think properly ever again, too bogged down in medications._

“Which ones are you planning on giving me and what are the side effects of each?” I wanted to know, that was the important bit. I wanted to get rid of as many side effects as I could, I’d been on the bad side of medications in the past, I wasn't repeating it.

We spent a long time talking together about what exactly I was taking, coming down to the two that had the least side effects associated with them. For the anti-anxiety, we all agreed on Buspirone, as it was the least addictive drug, and didn’t affect memory or coordination. It could cause drowsiness though, or possibly headaches, or stomach problems. Currently though, I was mostly worried about losing my memory and coordination, so I wanted to give it a try.

But after an hour of negotiation, we all decided against using any sleep medications, all of them were either originally an anti-anxiety which also worked as a sedative, or could cause variations in my brain function, and when suddenly faced with the idea of losing my brain, I realised it was something I was not giving up. I wasn't even going to risk it, I wanted my brain intact, I wanted my IQ level to stay the same, I was nothing without my mind, I wasn't going to risk getting rid of it. I’d have to deal with the nightmares and hope that the mixture of therapy and Loki would help out, because I was really _not_ going to risk my brain. I needed it, it was what made me, I couldn’t lose it or make it worse than it already was. I’d work something else out, but I couldn’t lose my brain, I needed my brain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah I went with Loki, I couldn't resist! I'm a huge fan of Marvel films and adored Loki, and to be honest, always thought that Sherlock and Loki would get along quite well. And considering all the trouble Sherlock and John usually get into, having a dog called Loki would be rather fitting!


	136. Chapter 136

135 Sherlock's POV                         

A week went passed and I refused to spend more time with Loki than I had to... which was every waking minute. He followed me everywhere, and was _trained_ to as well. If I got agitated (which was a frequent thing while these damn anti-anxiety pills took their time to kick in) he redirected my attention to him, he woke me from nightmares, everything he was supposed to do. But I still refused to thank him beyond giving him a treat like I’d been instructed to do.

I didn’t play with him, didn’t talk to him, or anything further than I had to. Not once, because I refused to like this dog, I wasn't going to have another Redbeard situation. Mycroft wasn't going to be tolerant for that long, even though Loki was quiet and didn’t cause much mess. He still left fur everywhere, and sometimes trailed mud in after his morning walk (which I didn’t do, under the pretence of eating breakfast). My brother couldn’t stand mess; he wasn't going to let me keep him. And if by some miracle he did, there was still the reality that one day I would lose him. I couldn’t take that, I just _couldn’t._

“Sherlock, is there something wrong with Loki? You haven’t made much of an effort to bond with him, or even bothered to pay attention to him most of the time.” Hardwick sighed eight days after I’d been given Loki.

“He’s fine; he does his job, which is all that matters.” I pulled my knees up to my chest to stop Loki nudging at my leg again. I was _not_ bloody agitated, I was _defensive,_ there was a difference.

_Of course there is._

“Sherlock, Loki isn’t just here to redirect your agitation and wake you from your nightmares, which he does do brilliantly I admit, he’s here to be your friend. He’s here to support you and give you companionship. You are allowed to play with him and treat him like any other dog; it’s not going to undo all his training.” Hardwick looked at me like I was an idiot and didn’t know this. Of course I knew this; I’d done all the bloody research into how trained dogs worked.

“I know, I just don’t want to ‘bond’ with him. I’m fine with him just doing what he’s supposed to do and that’s it.” Did everyone have to keep on with all this encouragement with this damn dog? I was letting this dog do its job, for God sake, wasn't that enough? _No._

“Dogs like Loki are so much more effective when you do form a bond, like you would with any other pet. So what is it about Loki that’s pushing you away? Do you want a different dog, because if he’s not working out, we can give you a different dog. It’s no trouble.” Hardwick leant her forearms on her knees, _still trying to apply to your reasoning skills. Not going to happen._

“No, he’s fine; he’s fine as he is. I don’t want to change him.” I didn’t even want to get rid of him either. I liked Loki enough; I didn’t want a different dog now. _You’re already attached, spectacular failure that._

“Ah, you’re scared of another Redbeard situation, aren’t you?” Hardwick’s eyes sparked like she had just figured me out.

“No of course not. I don’t even think about Redbeard anymore, why would he be an issue with Loki now?” _liar._

“That’s why you kept on saying his name when we introduced you to Loki is it? I heard that losing Redbeard was a traumatic experience, why don’t you tell me about him?” Why the hell would that help?!

“He was a traumatic experience and is stopping you from accepting Loki; I want to help you with that.” Hardwick explained when I asked as much.

“Redbeard was just my dog when I was a child, that’s all. I didn’t have the best time losing him; doesn’t every child have a hard time losing their pets?” I glared at her, just daring her to continue. I didn’t want to talk about Redbeard, I _never_ wanted to talk about him, and I wasn't about to let some therapist poke her nose in so she could laugh at me for still caring about him dying nearly twenty years later.

“They do, but not all children were as intelligent as you, or had the same problems.” _Meaning that you were a bullied, isolated little autistic freak._

“So? It was a bad childhood experience; I got over it eventually and moved on. There’s no correlation between my behaviour with Redbeard and Loki. They’re two different dogs at two _very_ different points in my life, I’m not about to start telling you all about Redbeard just so you get me to bond more with Loki.” I growled at her, it wasn't working; I wasn't going to bring up all the damn pain from Redbeard again. It was better if it all stayed hidden away, so when Loki went away it wouldn’t hurt as much.

“Sherlock please, I’m trying to help you here. Redbeard is an important part of your life, and Loki is going to become an important part too, he’s here to help you as much as he possibly can. He’s going to help more and have more of an impact if you just let him in, and not let previous experiences with Redbeard cloud that.” Hardwick sighed again.

“Maybe I don’t want him to make a huge impact on my life! Maybe I don’t want to have my whole bloody world revolve around him, just for him to be snatched away from me by my asshole big brother!” I shouted, Loki pressed his head against my leg; I resisted pushing him away by sheer force of will. One act of violence would lead to more; I wasn't going to do that again either!

“Okay, take a breath Sherlock, I didn’t mean to upset you like that,” _pshh, hardly,_ “I’m sorry. I shall try to not do that again. I was just trying to find out why you’re so against becoming close to Loki, and now I think I know. Mycroft told you that Redbeard was gone, didn’t he? And he didn’t do it nicely by my guess.”

“Look who’s finally getting observant.” I growled again, Loki pressed his head against my hand; I pushed it into my pocket again. I didn’t want to pet a damn dog right now.

“How old were you?” Hardwick asked, at least trying to look sincere this time.

“Thirteen,” I gave in, hoping it would shut her up about this, “He did it because he was tired of me asking to visit him on the farm my parents said they’d sent him to. He then said I was stupid for ever believing them.”

“Ouch, bit of a dick move. How long had you had Redbeard?” Hardwick continued.

“We got him when I was seven. My parents... they got him for me because I wasn't making friends at school, even after a year and several teacher interventions. Mummy... she couldn’t stand it so she took me to pick him out on my seventh birthday. I loved him the second he came up to lick my face and didn’t tire of me, even after spending an hour with me, so Mummy bought him. We were inseparable until I was sent off to Harrow at eleven, but he was always brought along when I got picked up. He was, he was my best friend.” I sank back into the chair, staring into the fire place.

“I was twelve when he got cancer, so my parents put him down, and they decided to lie to me to ‘save me some pain’ or some other ridiculous idea. They lied for nearly a year until Mycroft told me, he wasn't even kind about it, he just grinned as he said it, nearly _laughing in my face_ as he told me. I had a _massive_ meltdown and fell to pieces, and nobody even cared. I was just shipped back off to school like nothing had happened. Fast forward a month and I passed out from exhaustion and malnutrition because I’d thrown myself into my studies to forget about the pain of it all.” I wiped a tear from my eyes, refusing to cry over this again, “And don’t you fucking dare mock me for any of that, it was a legitimate thing to be meltdown over. It was a traumatic thing to go through and you’re not allowed to laugh or belittle it, or him.”

She couldn’t laugh at me for being upset over it now either, she damn well asked me to tell her why I didn’t want to pay more attention to Loki, that was her answer. Hardwick could deal with it and not try to fit it into some sort of bloody reason as to why I was a freak now, not like those other stupid doctors who acted like he was the cause of all my problems or some crap.

“I’m not laughing, why would I laugh at something that causes you pain? That sounds like a horrid thing to go through, and I’m very sorry that you did go through that. Mycroft was very wrong in what he did to you, he really should not have let that slip like that, or called you stupid for reacting. To me, you were fully in your rights to have a meltdown; you lost your best friend, that’s enough to send anybody into a meltdown.” Hardwick surprised me.

“Is that why you don’t want to get close to Loki? That’s not going to happen again, I can promise you now that Mycroft isn’t going to do that to you again. Loki is your therapy dog; he’s not going anywhere unless you say so. Nobody is going to snatch him from you, he is yours now.” Hardwick promised.

“You’ve all already told me this. It’s not helping me feel more inclined to like Loki.” I glared weakly at her.

“Well I don’t know what I can say Sherlock, this is your therapy and Loki is doing his job. But I do think you should at least take him for walks, and try to get to know him. Redbeard isn’t going to happen again, even after your therapy is over, Loki is staying with you for the rest of his life if that is what you want. I can’t stop him from eventually dying, but it’s something we all have to face at some point, sometimes it’s quicker than others. But when that does happen, you’re not going to be lied to about it. Redbeard won’t happen again.” Hardwick promised, it did nothing.

I didn’t want to believe her, and I wasn't inclined to start to either. I was going to need a legitimate reason to give in, and currently I wasn't getting one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG we're nearly at 20 THOUSAND views, that's absolutely INSANE! Thank you all so much for reading and leaving kudos and comments - it means everything!


	137. Chapter 137

136 Sherlock's POV

After my talk with Hardwick, it seemed like people were inventing ways to get me to spend time with Loki. They tried to insist on getting me to walk him, or something else as ridiculous, but I refused it all. Every chance that others took to force me to spend time with my new dog, I found a way to get out of it. I found myself ‘wrapped up in books’ or too tired to interact. But still, they persevered. It was infuriating, I didn’t _want_ to spend time with him, I didn’t want to get attached. I’d explained that, couldn’t everybody leave me _alone_ now?

_What, even John?_ No, not John. But could everybody just leave me alone with this whole ‘bonding with my dog’ thing, I didn’t want it. I was fine with just having him by my side for when I was agitated.

And yet, I still found myself wanting to like him. Loki provided a constant presence and warmth, a source of comfort when I started getting stressed. He was gentle with me all the time, simply curling himself up close to me most of the time, his warmth radiating near my leg. And it felt _good,_ nobody came near me much anymore, not that I’d allow them to anyway, but I sensed that the people around me kept their distance deliberately so I couldn’t hurt them. _It’s for the best; you could kill them if you’re not careful._ I could, didn’t mean that it didn’t hurt when I saw the workers around the house divert their paths, or deliberately put space between us when they saw me.

It hurt most when John did it.                  

Oh John still came round every day, just like clockwork, still carrying food from either one of Baker Street’s local takeaways or baked by Mrs Hudson. But there was now _so much_ distance between us. It felt like we were miles apart, awkwardly skirting around the biggest elephant in the room, one which John refused to let me apologise for. I wanted to though, I wanted to apologise repeatedly, beg and plead for his forgiveness, promise to never _ever_ hurt him again. John never let me though, he always stopped me in my tracks, saying that I didn’t need to apologise, that it was all fine in the context of my nightmares.

He said he forgave me, that we were still fine, that it was all okay. But John never came within three metres of me unless there was an object in the middle. Never. His daily food package was placed on the table between us for me to pick up, a footstall got placed between our chairs, there was never a single bit of close contact. And all I wanted to do was fall into his arms and apologise repeatedly for nearly killing him. _Apologising is going to do **nothing** for you. You nearly **murdered** him. There’s no coming back from that. _

I wished there was, wished I could do _something_ to stop this awkwardness, to bring him a little closer. Not much closer, I didn’t trust myself to get too close, but to at least get a little closer to him, to _anybody_ out there. Anybody who wasn't a dog who blindly followed me because that was what he was trained for. The isolation hurt, and to know it was all my fault for this, it was agony.

“Hey mate, I brought Chinese!” John came in, still smiling like this was normal. He placed the food down on the table and bent to give Loki a scratch behind the ears as the dog came over to sniff the bag.

“Great.” I fell into our routine, pulling plates from the cupboards and dishing up our meal while John was distracted.

He was so close to the table, so close to _me_ when this happened, because he was too busy paying attention to Loki. Usually he moved out of my way when he saw me getting close, but while distracted, for at least a few minutes, we could be close again. Within touching distance. All I had to do was reach out and I could have touched... **no.** I couldn’t risk reaching out like that. I had to be good, I had to stay away. There couldn’t be another strangling incident, or any other type of harm to John, or anybody else for that matter.

_You’re lucky he’s still even showing up. Now you’ve got a dog friend he could easily just walk away and leave you to it._ One more incident with him and I probably would end up with Loki as my only company. _Serve you right._

Once John was satisfied with fussing with Loki, he stood and helped with the dishing up, always keeping the table between us. I wasn't even sure he knew he was doing it, but at the least his subconscious was always protecting him, our hands never even getting close enough to brush together, let alone anything else.

We ate, talking idly about our days, not that there was anything to report. Just another crap night’s sleep, my nightmares evolving to show some of my more violent experiences, a boring morning ignoring a dog in favour of staring at a book, and an awkward therapy session that went nowhere for me. For John, another day at the surgery. Filled with stupid patients panicking about major illnesses when really it was all minor, and one round of immunisation injections for a screaming baby.

“Doesn’t sound pleasant.” I commented.

“It wasn't, I nearly got a migraine, that kid had a pair of lungs on him.” John answered, shuddering a little.

Silence fell for exactly five minutes.

“So, Christmas is coming up... Do you think you’ll still be getting a visit from your parents?” John asked... Now that was something I wasn't expecting.

“I, I don’t know. Mycroft hasn’t spoken to me about it.” To be honest, Mycroft hadn’t really spoken to me about _anything._ Mainly he’d been in his office, citing that there was something going on in Asia that needed his attention. I knew that to really mean that he didn’t really fancy spending any more time with me than necessary and so was removing himself from my vicinity as much as he could. He had had a talk with Hardwick recently, at a guess about his behaviour with Redbeard, and now he was just simply avoiding me at all costs. Why talk to me and screw me up further when he could ignore me inside his own house?

“Ah, I think you should bring it up soon. There’s only two weeks until Christmas, so it’s getting a bit late to change plans.” John advised, _like it’s a good idea to bring down Mummy and Daddy now, after you’ve had **four** psychotic turns in the past two months. _

“It’s probably been cancelled, or at least moved to a later date. After... _the incident,_ ” we both winced, “Probably best not to bring them down.” I sighed, putting down my fork, suddenly not feeling very hungry.

“Ask anyway, okay? You’ll have been on your pills for enough time for them to be taking true effect by Christmas, and Loki is also helping you too. There are still going to be guards here and if you need to get away, I’m sure no-one is going to tell you that you can’t leave to cool down.” John had been told to say this. Bloody Mycroft, sending in other people to take care of his conversations for him.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” I left the table, not wanting to talk about it. The less I could think about my parents coming to stay and the danger that would cause, the better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments/kudos! Please don't be afraid to leave me a comment, I love hearing what you guys think of this and how things are progressing!  
> Two quick things: I may not be updating this Sunday, because my best friend is coming over for a movie marathon. It may fall through thanks to her work timetable, but currently it looks like she's coming over for at least 75% of the day, and the other bit of that day I'm planning on spending it catching up on some uni work I need to do! So there probably won't be an update on Sunday, and I may update Monday to make up for it, but I'm not sure yet, depends on what happens. If there isn't any all weekend, I haven't forgotten this fic, I'm just caught up doing a tonne of other stuff!  
> Secondly, I have no experience with dogs whatsoever. In fact, I'm terrified of them, get me in a room with a dog and I run screaming, so I have no real practical experience with dogs, let alone service dogs. My wonderful Beta Nita is helping me out by checking over Loki's behaviour to make it seem more realistic, and telling me if I accidentally forget about him (I'm not used to any animals so it is entirely possibly I will forget he's there) which is a huge help. Southern Anon is also hopefully going to give me some more info on service dogs from her experience too, so I can hopefully change some bits round that aren't quite accurate. But until then, if Loki acts a little weird, or seems to disappear, it's entirely my fault and blame it on my lack of socialisation with dogs! I'm trying my best though, so I hope it's not too bad!


	138. Chapter 138

137 John's POV

After Sherlock’s nightmare attack, I got so wary to be around him. I didn’t mean to, but I couldn’t help but want to keep a safe distance between us. Half the time I didn’t even realise that I was moving out of Sherlock’s way, or putting objects between us so it was harder for him to get to me.

Deep down, I knew that it was reasonably safe because Sherlock wasn't violent when he was calm, and he was so much calmer with Loki and his new medications. But at the same time, he was... my mind couldn’t help but scream _danger_ every time I went near him. I couldn’t help but think back to his hands being around my neck, choking the life out of me, just how little control he had over it. The whole incident had been like he was possessed or something, and it haunted him, it haunted everyone in the house.

Finding out scared Mrs Hudson and Lestrade, I’d had to tell them because I couldn’t hide the bruises from them. And even when I reassured them that Loki would help him, as would therapy and his medications, I couldn’t help but feel like I was lying a bit. If I couldn’t trust Sherlock, who else could?

I hated being scared of Sherlock when he came close, but I couldn’t help it at all. I moved out of his way out of self preservation, even when there were no warning signs of another bad turn. I wished I could simply sit next to him on the sofa, possibly even hug him, reassure him that things would get better and that he didn’t have to worry about me hating him, or anything of the sort. I knew Sherlock’s reasons, understood he was sorry too; I didn’t blame him at all.

What would have also really helped the situation would be if Mycroft stopped using me as a go between for the two of them. He was always inquiring after Sherlock as I left his house, and asking me if I could try and bring up certain subjects during my visits. I wasn't exactly sure why he couldn’t do it, or why Doctor Hardwick couldn’t either, but apparently it had to be me because Sherlock was most responsive to me or some crap. I complied anyway, figuring that it was all for a reason, even if I wanted Mycroft to get his head out of his arse and talk to his brother for once.

The Christmas and parents conversation was a bit of a flop, but at least I’d brought it up like Mycroft asked. It was getting a bit late in the day to change their original plans really, because according to Mycroft, their parents were _so_ excited to see Sherlock, and still so oblivious to what was going on. Yet Mycroft was continuing to keep them in the dark, which was only pressuring Sherlock and causing him more agitation.

“You know, you don’t have to have them round if you don’t feel up to it. There’s no shame in cancelling if you don’t feel up to it, family can be the most stressful thing in the world at times, nobody would hold it against you if you backed out.” I offered in advice as Loki butted his head against Sherlock's tapping hand. That dog picked up Sherlock’s tells incredibly quickly, almost quicker than I did, I wondered idly if he had been trained to pick up Sherlock’s specific tells before he got here. And how long those tells had been there, since childhood maybe? I’d never seen him do it before now though... but then again I hadn’t noticed a lot about Sherlock, my last Google search had been rather informing though...

“I can’t, Mycroft’s put them off for long enough as it is. Mummy will... she won’t be happy put it that way.” Sherlock sighed, leaning his head against the window, his fingers tapping against Loki’s head. I didn’t point it out in fear he realised he was interacting with his dog, something he was still hesitant to do.

“What about your Dad?” I joined him by the window, keeping a metre apart, but not as far as usual, it was something.

“He’ll be upset too, but he’ll understand a bit better. Mummy is just...” Sherlock trailed off.

“A force to be a reckoned with?” I finished for him.

“Basically, and nobody denies her an already arranged meeting without serious consequences. While it’ll be funny to see Mycroft in trouble, I doubt it’ll fun when it’s my turn to get my head bitten off.” Sherlock elaborated, looking out the window like he wanted to jump through it and run as far away as possible.

To be honest, I couldn’t blame him, the thought of seeing his parents for the first time in three years, in light of everything that had happened recently, had to be incredibly stressful. I wouldn’t blame him in the slightest if he wanted to run away, it had been something that happened frequently before the whole Fall thing happened. Sherlock never really went for social gatherings; he never seemed to know what to do with himself. Or how to talk to others about things that were not murder, or the deductions he had made about the person he was talking to. Doing that now, with his parents... oh that wasn't going to be fun.

“I can imagine... So, I guess you’re kinda stuck with it.” I bit my lip, wishing I could say anything to help.

“It seems so.” Sherlock nodded, tapping fingers starting to stroke Loki.

“I guess I could... I could stay too, if you want. You know, moral support and all that.” I offered, thinking that maybe I could... I wasn't even sure. Give Sherlock a distraction from his family? Give his family a distraction from him? God knows, something anyway.

“What? No, no! You can’t, that’s not... You can’t stay while they’re here!” Sherlock _panicked._

“Whoa, okay, okay! I was only offering!” I held up my hands in innocence.

“You can’t stay, you physically _can’t_ stay okay? Promise me you won’t. They’ll show you... It won’t be good. You have to stay away. T-Thanks for offering, but you just can’t stay. It’s best if you stay away.” Sherlock went to touch me then pulled his hands back. I didn’t even get a chance to react it was so quick.

“Alright, alright, I’ll stay away if that’s what you want.” I promised, anything to calm him down again before everything fell apart and someone, namely me, got hurt again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the comments and the kudos!  
> Also it looks like there won't be an update on Sunday, because while my best friend is working, I'm going to be writing/making more vlogs for my youtube channel/blogging, so I will probably not have time to update!  
> And, just a warning, if updates suddenly stop for no reason, I have not forgotten about this fic, it'll be my damn laptop breaking on me. I've had it a year and it's suddenly decided that it wants to screw me over, between suddenly going into sleep mode, to completely freezing up, refusing to type on word documents, it's driving me mad! It's only doing it occasionally, but I do feel like this thing is on it's way out, and could pack up at any time. So if updates stop randomly, it's my laptop!


	139. Chapter 139

138 Sherlock's POV                              

John _could not_ stay for Christmas, no way was he allowed to stay for Christmas! He’d find out _everything_ and then where would I be?! John couldn’t find out about everything else that was wrong with me, he couldn’t! It was bad enough that he had seen several meltdowns, a shut down and been the victim of two attacks from me, he couldn’t find out more! He couldn’t stay, he couldn’t stay!

“It’s okay; I’ll do something else over the holidays, alright? There’s no need to freak out, I was only offering.” John promised, hands held up in surrender.

“O-Okay, I’m sorry, but you can’t stay. It’s not that I don’t... you just can’t stay, my parents... It’s not a good mix.” I couldn’t explain properly because that would defeat the whole point of keeping John away, but I didn’t want him to think that I didn’t want him around. I always wanted him around; I just _couldn’t_ when _they_ were here. Just putting me with my parents was going to be a big enough risk, I’d rather John didn’t become a witness too it, or add himself to the firing line.

“I understand. Though if you change your mind, or feel the need to call me to talk or anything like that, you can. I’ll have my phone on me so you can call if you need it. Family is stressful, especially when you haven’t seen them in years, sometimes you need an escape, and if I can be that escape, I’d be happy to help.” John promised, then changed the subject to something a bit less worrying.

Though the thought still swirled in my head, the idea of John being here at Christmas, seeing me with my parents, it sounded like a nightmare. If he saw us, he’d see how they treated me and find out so many things I didn’t want him to know. I didn’t want John to know I was on the autistic spectrum; I didn’t want him to know about Redbeard, who would undoubtedly come up in conversation because of Loki’s appearance. I didn’t want him to see _any_ of it, he’d seen too much of the bad sides to me, he couldn’t see anymore. _He’d leave if he saw one more thing wrong with you._

I didn’t want John to leave, not yet. I was barely holding onto him by a thread right now, I needed to do _something_ to stop that last thread from being cut. I had some preventative measures in place to keep him safe, but it wasn't enough to do that and then bring him round for Christmas. John had never witnessed a Holmes Christmas before, he’d surely be scared off straight away and I’d never see him again.

I was being entirely selfish here, but I didn’t want John to leave. I felt _better_ with him here, even though I was scared to hurt him. I felt like I was better with him here, that I could have some sort of conversation, do _something_ normal when he was around, only if it was having dinner miles apart from each other. John was the only normal thing I had in my life right now, I couldn’t let him go, I couldn’t! He was such an important part of my life, and he’d stayed here even though I’d nearly killed him, I didn’t want him to go because of what he saw over one Christmas.

Eventually, John had to leave again, claiming he had an early shift at the surgery. It was a lie, he was already working the early shifts, there was nothing earlier to work. _He just wanted out of this hell hole before you snapped._ Probably, and I didn’t blame him. I was far too easily swayed into violence, even with all this medication and Loki, I didn’t even trust myself to stay calm.

_If you don’t trust yourself now, how are you going to trust yourself with Mummy and Daddy hovering close all day, using that condescending tone and acting like you’re a mentally deficient child?_ I didn’t know, I _really_ didn’t know, I wasn't looking forward to finding out.

Mummy always spent so much time _hovering_ around me, like I would implode at any second, always acting like every small achievement I made was like I’d claimed Everest. She tried to be kind and caring, but it always came across like she didn’t know how to talk to me, not like how she talked to Mycroft. It was the same with Daddy, though he was slightly better. He still didn’t know how to talk to me like I was a human being, and acted like I was a time bomb every time something went wrong. Yet, they both hovered around me, giving me too many hugs and asking too many questions at once, almost like if they showed me enough love I’d become a real boy. I didn’t know how I was going to react to this again, not after three years of not putting up with it.

I was craving the company and possibly a hug or two, I wasn't ready to be _constantly_ hovered around, or being in constant contact with others, being expected to talk and oh God what if they asked about what I did during my time away?! How would I even answer that question?! I couldn’t answer that question! What would happen if I got too stressed out, what if I had another flashback, what if it was a _violent_ flashback?! Oh God, oh dear _God_ why were we doing this?! This wasn't what I wanted! This wasn't... I couldn’t do this! Not without so many preventative measures!

Without even thinking I ran out of the room, running across to the north wing of Mycroft’s house, bundling headfirst into his office and barely keeping upright while I was at it.

“I need... I need you to give me something, over Christmas.” I wheezed out, “I need, I need _something,_ or I’m not going to be able to control myself, I’m going to hurt someone, I can’t hurt someone. I need you to give me something to stop it!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had a great weekend, watching a rather strange collection of films (Mulan, Space Jam, Star Trek (Chris Pine version) and then the finale of Agent Carter) with my best friend. But now I'm alone again, I may as well give you guys an update!


	140. Chapter 140

139 Mycroft's POV

I didn’t think I’d ever seen Sherlock look so desperate when asking for something from me. Actually, I’d never seen him ask for anything to help him control himself, let alone ask _me_ to help him. Sherlock didn’t trust me to help him, especially with things like this, now he was asking me to medicate him further.

Something was very, very wrong in my brother’s mind, and there wasn't much of a chance of us fixing it before our parents arriving in a week. _Damn._

“Isn’t your dog enough?” That’s why the fur ball was here, littering every available surface with its malting fur. I was lucky enough to have escaped the furry horror so far, though with the thing now in my office, I doubted that that was going to last for much longer.

“No! No I can’t... I can’t be sure. Mummy is, Mummy is stressful, I, I don’t want to be stressed and hurt her.” Sherlock petted his dog as it prompted him to, at least stopping his tapping fingers.

“Fine, I shall phone Doctor Hardwick for her opinion on this.” I sighed, seeing his point there. Mummy was a rather stressful figure to be around sometimes, with her constant fussing and need to always talk. It drove Sherlock, and me for that matter, to distraction at the best of times, with Sherlock in his current state, I could understand his worries.

So, I phoned the long suffering doctor, asking for her opinion. She understood immediately why Sherlock was worried and spent an awfully long time musing over what to do. It was almost painful to listen to her work out if there was enough time to teach Sherlock some more coping techniques before the arrival of our parents (there wasn't, and even if there was they wouldn’t work) or if it was a good idea to simply warn them to not trigger Sherlock off (again, no point, say something like that and Mummy would have a fit and insist on staying longer to look after her precious son) or if it would just be easier to give him some sort of medication for now, to get him through a weeklong visit (the answer to that was yes).

In the end, she made the right decision and went with the idea of giving Sherlock a very mild sedative while our parents were visiting. It wasn't the best idea in terms of recovery, but it was the best for the bad situation. Sherlock didn’t have time to learn and harness calming techniques, and couldn’t rely completely on Loki to redirect him from stress. He needed to be kept calm while Mummy nearly smothered him with affection and questions and Lord knew what else she had planned.

Though, that didn’t stop Doctor Hardwick from trying to give Sherlock a few breathing exercises to do when he get stressed, she did try her best with him up until our parents arrived, though it didn’t help my brother’s anxiety at all. If anything, all the so called preparation was scaring him more, until he was a bundle of nerves, hiding himself away from the world as he shook with fear on the morning of their arrival.

I stayed out of his way for the morning, in case I made him worse, instead busying myself with making sure others in the house were doing their jobs. I wished to say that John was here for Sherlock’s moral support, but he turned down the offer after bringing it up had scared Sherlock, so that meant it was down to me to sort everything out and be the sane one in these proceedings.

Oh I was _not_ looking forward to this at all.                

At least Sherlock’s sedative should be working by the time Mummy and Daddy arrived... _should._ If it didn’t, I wasn't going to be pleased; nobody was going to be pleased... This could actually turn into our worst Christmas yet, and we had had some awful Christmases over the years.

Could someone remind me why I thought this was a good idea again? Oh yes, because Mummy had insisted and Sherlock hadn’t had his major breakdown yet. If there was a next time, I wasn't going to leave anything to chance and would actually think ahead when it came to Sherlock’s likely path. Running this family was turning into a fall time job, why didn’t I get paid to do this? Sorting out various country officials was easier than sorting out the Holmes family.

But, things had to be done, couldn’t stop and worry now; Mummy and Daddy would be here in precisely thirty seconds.

“Sir, your parents have arrived. Shall I fetch your brother for you?” One of my staff informed me, right on time, just as I liked it.

“Warn him that they have arrived, let me fetch him in due course.” I answered, taking a settling breath and heading towards the living room, where our precious parents were waiting.

“Myke! There you are, how good it is to see you! It’s been too long young man!” Mummy immediately wrapped her arms around me, holding on far too tightly.

“I’ve been busy Mummy.” I excused myself, ignoring the stupid nickname for the millionth time; couldn’t she say my full name instead of the ridiculous shortened version?

“Yes, but sometimes you can still pick up the phone and call, instead of making us do all the hard work.” Mummy chastised, still holding on tight.

“And your job doesn’t prevent you from seeing us in the evening.” Daddy continued, I refrained from saying that yes, in fact it did, and if it didn’t Sherlock generally took over.

“I shall keep that in mind.” Politely was the way to go here, let them have their usual chastisement, break the ice a bit, warn them about Sherlock a little, and hopefully go continue our lovely little visit with no screaming or violent outbursts. _If only._

“Where’s Sherlock? He’s not sulking again is he? The silly boy was prewarned for _months_ in advance to this so it’s not like we’ve changed his routine unexpectedly.” Mummy did exactly as I thought; go straight to worrying about her youngest.

“No, no he’s not sulking Mummy. He’s upstairs, but before we go and see him, I must warn you of some things,” this was the bit I was not looking forward to, “I trust that you remember that Sherlock has not been adjusting back to his life well, and so there are a few things I need to explain first before we go bursting in on him.” I managed to block the door so neither parent escaped just yet. I could feel the two of them being drawn out of the room in search for Sherlock; they were almost magnets to him whenever they were around him.

“Why do we need warning? Is there something you’re not telling us?” Mummy gave me the evil glare I had avoided most of my childhood, it reminded me of Sherlock when he was looking at one of the particularly stupid members of Scotland Yard.

“No, of course not. I’ve told you everything; I just want to take a few minutes to explain a few things about Sherlock’s current behaviour. He obviously hasn’t been completely well for a while, and we have given him some medication to calm him down from stress, so if he’s a little quiet, he’s not sulking, it’s just the medications. We’ve also invested in him owning a dog, so he’s going to be accompanied by a retriever named Loki.” I explained, being as nice as I could as I warned them both against being a bit too loud or talking about his time away, or touching Sherlock.

It broke Mummy’s heart as I explained that he wasn't fond of touch, or being close to others right now, and I hated having to warn her against holding her own son, but it was for the best. Sherlock wasn't well; he didn’t handle being close to others, it was best to make sure Mummy didn’t get _too_ close too often. She had caused so many meltdowns in the past with her coddling, and right now things would be at their worst if we didn’t take the proper precautions.

Now if they actually listened and acted accordingly was another matter entirely, and I wasn't looking forward to finding out if they did or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the comments and the kudos! It means a lot to me!  
> Also, another MASSIVE thank you to Southern Anon who gave me a load of information regarding ideas for this fic and is offering her help wherever possible - it's a huge help and lifts a huge weight off my mind, thank you!


	141. Chapter 141

140 Sherlock's POV

The morning my parents were due to arrive had me nearing rocking back and forth in a corner in fear. I didn’t want this, I didn’t want to see them, I didn’t want to put them in danger! What if these supposed sedating pills didn’t work? What if they didn’t work and something happened and I snapped? I didn’t want to hurt Mummy or Daddy, or Mycroft either. But what if I did? What if these didn’t work and this all went wrong?

_Then you’ll definitely be the one who upset Mummy._ I didn’t want to upset Mummy, I _really_ didn’t want to upset Mummy, or hurt her. But the only way to make sure of that would be to not see her or Daddy but they were going to be here soon and there was nothing I could do this was all going to go wrong and I was going to hurt them oh God I was actually going to hurt my parents and then I would prove to them I was a psychopath too and then I’d be taken to some place where I wouldn’t hurt anybody ever again but then I’d be alone forever I didn’t want to be alone I didn’t want to hurt anybody either but I didn’t want to be alone!

“Sherlock, your parents are due in two hours, your brother has recommended you take the new medications now and start your breathing exercises.” One of Mycroft’s servants informed me, quickly making his exit, _scared you’ll hit him if he gets any closer._

Never mind that, this was the moment of truth! These pills were supposed to make me calm, but I didn’t have a clue if they would work or not! What if they didn’t? If they didn’t everything could go _so_ wrong, but if I did take them, I didn’t know if they’d work anyway! Or what if they worked too well and I was completely knocked out? Hardwick had said she’d calculated the right dosage but what if she made a mistake? Please, she couldn’t make a mistake with this...

With shaking hands, I popped a pill from its packaging and swallowed it dry, praying for the best.

Within ten minutes, my mind seemed to partially shut down, the world dimmed slightly as well. It felt a bit like I had taken sleeping pills that hadn’t worked properly. I could move and think, but not as _quickly,_ or really feel as stressed. I was stressed still, but it felt a little... further away in my mind.

Loki seemed mildly confused by this, but ended up resting his head on my lap, and in turn I played with his ears... apparently these pills also made me more receptive to my dog and made me want to pay attention to him. Who knew.

By the time the door bell rang, I was almost feeling okay about this whole thing, but then I started hearing three distinctive sets of footsteps heading towards my door. _Here they come!_ Oh shit, real moment of truth, **please be okay, please turn out okay.** There was no backing out now; I had to deal with this for an entire week. My God these pills better work and, I couldn’t believe I was actually saying this, but dull my brain function so this didn’t end in disaster.

“Sherlock, Mummy and Daddy are here.” Mycroft opened the door.

“Obviously, I did hear you walking across the corridor.” We’d already had this talk, I was to act at least slightly normally in front of our parents so we didn’t worry them further, or give them any reason to stay longer than the planned week. We’d been through a parent-hovering-while-recovering situation before; I nearly went _insane_ after that fun situation. Never again were we doing that.

It was best for them to stay the week and then _leave._ And whenever I was deemed ‘better’ or at least ‘safe to see others’ again we would go back to our usual six monthly arrangement. It was the most either me or Mycroft could deal with and the only arrangement that kept both parents happy. Though they still moaned that we didn’t phone often enough.

“Sherlock, sweetheart, may we come in?” Mummy was hesitant in asking. _Wouldn’t you be if you found out that your son was violent?_

“Why wouldn’t you be able to?” They could come in if they wanted; it wasn't like I was hiding anything in here, apart from myself.

“Well it is your room, and you’ve always been so protective of your space and having it invaded, and you did have the door closed. You could have been having a sensory treatment for all we knew.” Mummy shuffled in, staying back at the wall. So did Daddy and Mycroft for that matter, that wasn't normal. I was usually assaulted into a hug the second Mummy laid eyes on me, and then not let go of for an excruciatingly long time. _They’re scared. They’re scared of you and what you could do if you got too close._

“Never stopped you before.” There had been many a time when my personal space had been invaded without my consent by my parents.

“Well we’re being a bit more considerate, considering... considering everything that has happened recently.” Mummy bit her lip, _that clearly means what you’ve done; they know all about the attacks against John, and how you landed yourself here._

“Shall we take this to another room? Sherlock doesn’t have any chairs in here, and I’ve had some food prepared for us all.” Mycroft changed the subject, herding our parents out the door and giving me a look to tell me to follow.

I sighed and did it, wishing I didn’t have to follow along. Why couldn’t they all just be together and leave me alone? This wasn't, this wasn't a good plan _at all._ Even with these medications, Loki and breathing exercises, we still were heading into a disaster. Anything could happen, I could let something slip, someone could hear my nightmares in the night before Loki woke me up, or I could have a flashback in front of someone... or God forbid I could actually have a violent moment again. _Fuck_ who thought this was a good idea?!

“Brother mine, why don’t you find your violin, you can play us something later, Mummy always liked to hear you perform.” Mycroft suggested half way down the corridor.

“It’s... It’s not tuned.” He knew it wasn't tuned, what was he up to?

“Oh you could tune it while we talk, we won’t mind, will we dear?” Mummy turned to Daddy, getting some life back in her.

“Of course not, we are used to it after all!” Daddy smiled.

“That was how we conversed for most of your teenage years; I swear we didn’t have a conversation with you without that violin in your hands for six years!” Mummy laughed, _only because you lost Redbeard as a crutch at that point._

I winced at the thought, but grabbed my violin, curling up in an armchair in Mycroft’s front room and starting to tune the instrument. Running my hands over the wood and the strings for the first time in weeks was far more distracting than I had expected, I hadn’t realised just how much I missed my violin until now. I dreaded to think how long it had been since I had last played the thing, it must have been... over six months now. Had I ever gone that long without it while being in London? I didn’t think I had, it felt weird to know that I had gone that long, out of fear of irritating someone. Even here, in Mycroft’s winding house where I wouldn’t wake up a single person if I played at 3am, I didn’t play. It didn’t feel right; there was something that didn’t feel quite right to playing anything randomly right now, let alone composing...

The conversation washed over me without me even noticing, I was so focused on tuning and reacquainting myself with my violin I didn’t notice anything going on around me. I didn’t even notice Loki nuzzling into my leg and starting to dose there...

Maybe I should have looked into keeping my violin with me at all times...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your comments and kudos!  
> If these next few chapters seem a little off or not quite right, I can only apologise for it. In my defense, I was rewriting these chapters repeatedly with different outcomes in a vain attempt to get it right. I'm still not very happy, but, needs must and it gets the basic job done! So yeah, if it seems weird, it's because it's gone a little wrong somewhere along the way and I'm not exactly sure what to do to fix it. Sorry about that!


	142. Chapter 142

141 Sherlock's POV                                            

“Sherlock,” I thought too soon, apparently I was back on Mummy’s radar again, “Is your violin ready yet?”

Yes, it had been for a while, I was just avoided telling anyone, “No, not quite. The strings aren’t tight enough yet.”

“Alright, take your time dear... Oh I’ve just noticed, is that Loki?” Mummy noticed the dog leaving a tonne of blond fluff on Mycroft’s black armchair.

“Yes, this is Loki.” Wasn't that a bit obvious? It wasn't likely that there would be another dog running around Mycroft’s house, or near either of us if I was honest, we weren’t dog people. _You were before you got your heart ripped out as a child._

“Oh, he looks so sweet! Can I touch him?” Mummy asked, Loki seemed to sense he was being watched and looked at me.

“Go on then, go over to her.” I encouraged the animal, who rolled off the chair and padded over to my parents, both of whom were immediately besotted with him.

“He’s gorgeous son, and so well trained already! You’ve clearly done a good job with teaching him recently.” Daddy commented, _so that’s the lie Mycroft has spun to explain this. You’re apparently training a dog as something to do and focus on. Well, it does sound better than him being a service dog, given to you because you’re a violent psychopath._

“Yeah... we’ve been busy.” I lied too, plucking a violin string.

“I can see that! Though I must say I am surprised at you for having a dog. I would have thought that after Redbeard, you would have never decided to have another pet for the rest of your life. You were so set on never owning another pet in case something happened; I’m actually very surprised you went for it.” Mummy made me wince, why did she have to mention Redbeard?!

I was trying _so hard_ to avoid comparing Loki to Redbeard, or even thinking of the two of them as a similar thing, did she have to remind me that they were both my pet dogs?!

“I... he... he’s not like Redbeard.” I stuttered, he wasn't like Redbeard; Loki _wasn't_ Redbeard, that was the point! I wasn't spending time with him, he wasn't my friend, he was there to help me out, nothing more! He wasn't even a pet, _Loki still was given to you as a therapy, he’s not that different._

“Isn’t he? Well either way, it’s a shock to see you with a new dog, and I’m very proud of you for coping so far with him. He’ll do you some good I’m sure, keep you company when you need it, and keep that boredom away too.” Mummy started rambling, sounding painfully like she had done when I was first given Redbeard.

_‘He’s going to be your friend William; he’s going to keep you company and play with you. He’ll help with your social skills; you’re never going to be lonely again with Redbeard around.’_

“Well... you know, Mycroft’s is boring...” I didn’t know what else to say, I just... I had been avoiding all thoughts of Redbeard for weeks, ever since I’d given in to keeping Loki, I didn’t want to think of him right now.

And why did I need to be praised for ‘coping’ with a dog anyway? I didn’t need to be praised for letting a dog follow me around, he was there to do a job, I was letting him do it. Why did that need praising!?

“Mummy, have I shown you the room you both will be staying in? I recently had it renovated for you. It overlooks the grounds beautifully.” Mycroft butted in, herding our parents out the room.

“Doesn’t Sherlock want to-” Mummy started saying.

“No, he’s a bit bored of the grounds, he’s been walking Loki round them for days, I’m sure by now he knows every single inch of the fields.” Mycroft continued to push them both out, until it was just me and Loki.

Loki who came over and licked my hand like that would do anything for me right now.

“Get off; I’m not distressed right now.” I growled at him, I wasn't in distress; I didn’t need a damn dog to lick my hand in an attempt to tell me everything would be okay. I was a bloody adult; a _dog_ wasn't going to make this feeling go away, he was the damn cause of it. And even if he wasn't, I wasn't about to let him comfort me. He was a dog, I was a human being damn it!

_Oh here comes the first real stressor! Think you’ll have time to calm down before Mummy and Daddy come back, or will they witness the thousandth meltdown? Only this time, it could be violent._

No, no, I was calm, I was perfectly calm. I just... talk of Redbeard blindsided me, that’s all. I was okay, I was going to be okay, I was fine. Just needed to breathe. _But what if this continues for the entire visit? More talk of Redbeard, or other painful things? You could explode and really give your own parents a reason to fear you._

No! It was fine, I had breathing exercises, I had all these pills, it was fine. Just fine. I could cope, I was going to cope! Nothing wrong here, nothing wrong here _at all._ I could get through this just fine, of course I could, I always had done in the past, I would do now. There was nothing to be afraid of, of course there wasn't, I just... I just needed to breathe and calm down.

Something pushed against my thigh; I looked down to see Loki holding my pill package in his mouth. Since damn when had he been trained to get me medications?! Bloody hell how well was this dog trained? Oh who cared, I couldn’t take those now, it was too early or some crap, didn’t want to OD again on drugs, even prescription drugs, Mummy would have a fit.

**Just breathe, breathe in, breathe out. Everything will be okay without the pills, just _breathe._**

It wasn't working right now! Not while I was on a time limit, knowing I was going to be found at any second. God knew what all of them would think if they saw me having a panic attack like this, dog holding onto a pill package. _It won’t be a good reaction at all. Seeing just how ill their son is, that may cause questions, questions you can’t answer without losing them both. They’re already avoiding looking you in the eye, or touching you, what else do you think they’ll do if they know you’re a murderer?_ Oh God please _no._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments/kudos!


	143. Chapter 143

142 Mycroft's POV

I kept our parents away for as long as possible, trying desperately to give Sherlock enough time to calm himself down before he had a panic attack, or whatever it was he was going to have just then. Mummy shouldn’t have mentioned Redbeard to him, in regards to Loki’s appearance; we had all tried our hardest to keep him from associating the two. Loki was essential to Sherlock’s recovery, his grounding to reality; he couldn’t afford to be scared away by the thought of growing attached and then losing him suddenly.

I had noticed signs of Sherlock starting to bond with Loki, he needed to strengthen those bonds, not lose them by misplaced praise. Now I was just hoping that Mummy hadn’t wrecked the tentative start of a working relationship between Sherlock and Loki, that Sherlock calmed down and carried on. I knew she had only meant well by praising her son for giving Loki a chance after the traumatic experience Redbeard had been, but it had been misplaced. Completely and utterly misplaced. I had to do something to stop it from happening again...

“Before we go back to Sherlock, I’d like to have a quick word.” I stopped our precession back to the main room, well out of Sherlock’s hearing range.

“Of course Myke, what is it?” Mummy made me internally groan, it didn’t take long for that nickname to resurface. Why couldn’t she struggle all the way to the end? If she wanted a son named ‘Myke’ she should have put that on my birth certificate.

“I think I missed out a few things from our talk about Sherlock earlier.” I refrained from telling my mother to call me by my actual name. I had to be gentle here, delicate. I couldn’t alienate our parents away from Sherlock; just keep them careful enough around him to reduce the risk of a violent breakdown, or any sort of meltdown for that matter. Medications only went so far, a bit of healthy precaution would not go amiss either.

“At a guess we also now can’t mention Redbeard either, now that he has Loki. He’s serving a dual purpose in this case isn’t he? He’s not just a project for Sherlock; he’s some kind of service dog.” Mummy could sometimes prove too observant for her own good.

“Yes, basically. Sherlock, as you know, has been struggling a _lot_ recently, we got him Loki to keep him company, and keep him from less desirable actions.” How was it that _this_ was a difficult conversation? I could talk down the most fearsome dignitaries and world leaders without batting an eyelid, but telling my parents that my little brother had a therapy dog was somehow so much harder. This was ridiculous!

“Well alright then, if it helps him... He’s not going to have to give him up when he’s better though, is he? We can’t have another Redbeard situation.” Mummy worried.

“Of course not, Loki is Sherlock’s for the rest of the animal’s life, unless Sherlock decides he doesn’t need or want him anymore, which I doubt will happen to be honest. They’re becoming fast friends.” I lied slightly, of course Sherlock was allowed to keep Loki, he just wasn't becoming fast friends with the dog. He was more... tolerating his existence and letting the animal do its job. Mostly I was sure he was keeping him just to try and wind me up with all the fur on the furniture.

“Oh good, good. We wouldn’t want a meltdown because he lost his best friend again.” Mummy breathed a sigh of relief, she had _no_ idea. She hadn’t been there for the meltdown after Sherlock faked his death. He had been fine during the planning stages, after actually doing it though... well, let’s just say, it was not a pretty sight.

“We are still allowed to talk about Loki aren’t we?” Daddy asked.

“Of course. Just try not to associate him with Redbeard, they’re completely different entities, we’re trying to keep the association to a minimum. Any other questions?” Best to ask, in case there were any.

“Sherlock is still our son Myke, we know how to deal with him.” Mummy sent me a look that meant she wasn't too pleased with me continually warning her against doing things before she turned to go back to see Sherlock.

Internally I prayed that we had been gone long enough, that we could go back to _normal_ conversation. Possibly Sherlock could play his violin and everything would be back to how it should be, just with added therapy dog. It was wishful thinking to want it to be like it used to, back when we were children, where Sherlock would play his violin and play with his dog, Mummy would fuss and Daddy would hum Christmas tunes under his breath, and everything would be _fine._ No need to keep on warning against certain actions for Mummy and Daddy, no need to run intervention for Sherlock. Just a nice family Christmas. Was that too much to ask for?

Apparently, it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry the chapter is only short, I was having a bit of trouble with the Holmes brothers interacting with their parents the entire time I was writing this and so some chapters ended up shorter than usual!  
> Also, I'm going back to uni soon, but currently still don't know dates because nobody has bothered to let us know our timetable yet. Currently it looks like I'll be back to classes again around the 28th, but other than that I can tell you what I'm doing, so currently I have no idea if it'll change the update schedule or anything! I'll let you know as soon as I do though, which will hopefully be very soon!


	144. Chapter 144

143 Sherlock's POV

I forced myself to calm down before anyone came back, refusing to stroke Loki’s fur. I didn’t need to stroke him to calm down, or need him for anything other than to wake me up from nightmares. That was all; I didn’t need him as a friend, or for him to bring me pills or whatever. I was _fine,_ with or without him. I still didn’t need him for much, and I wasn't about to admit that I did. If he left tomorrow I’d be just fine without him, he was only a damn dog.

By the time the room was filled with Mycroft and our parents, I was reasonably calm again, just about breathing normally. Obviously Mycroft knew that I was not actually okay, but Mummy and Daddy didn’t, and that was what mattered anyway. As long as the fat git kept his mouth shut, our parents could live in blissful ignorance of the danger they were nearly put in just then. _Imagine if they had all walked in when you were panicking. If they’d gotten too close..._  I shuddered to think about it.

But that didn’t happen, so it didn’t matter. I’d managed to calm myself down, it was okay, I was okay. I was in control of my own body, nobody could tell me I wasn't because I _was_ in control. And as long as everyone kept their mouths shut about certain topics, or simply just stopped talking to me completely so I could put them all on mute I’d make it through this. Six more days, just six more days, I could make it through six more days... I hoped.

In the end, I got roped into playing violin for the family for a few hours, which wasn't too bad if I was honest. Playing the violin for the first time in I didn’t even know how long was an experience I couldn’t quite put words to. To feel the melody flow out of my fingers, vibrating strings keeping my brain occupied enough that I didn’t need to think too much, oh it was _beautiful._ It felt _good_ to play again, let my brain go quiet and almost fool it into thinking that this was normal. If I could just play forever, I’d be happy, could I just play forever? I’d be happy to play for the rest of my life right now.

“Beautiful Sherlock, simply beautiful!” Mummy praised as I finished her favourite piece, reminding me that there were actually other people in the room.

“Brilliant as always.” Daddy smiled his approval.

“Thanks.” I didn’t know what to do now I wasn't playing, feeling three pairs of eyes boring into me. I fought not to twitch, I could manage to not twitch, I’d had enough training against it. Didn’t need a dog to stroke either, so Loki could stop pushing against my hand right now too.

“Oh, our dinner will be served soon, how about we head to the dining hall?” Mycroft gave me a look, meaning ‘stay here a minute.’ Oh God what did he want to do? I was trying my best here!

“Of course, come on Love, I think our boys need a chat.” Mummy herded Daddy out of the room.

“She’s going to be suspicious of that, maybe think we’re going to have a civil conversation.” I commented after they left.

“Well that would make her very happy; Lord knows it’s been all she has wanted for years.” Mycroft sighed, joining me by the window, a metre of space still kept between us.

“Yes but then she would expect us to _get along_ all the time.” I shuddered again, getting along with Mycroft, the stuff of nightmares.

“What a ghastly idea.” Mycroft looked a bit horrified.

“Truly awful.” I nodded, the irony that we were agreeing right now not lost on me, “Now what do you want?”

“I simply wanted to tell you that I have warned them against talking about undesirable things. It should stop the likelihood of them continuing to talk about anything that could set off a... _moment_ shall we call it, but Mummy is, as predicted, not exactly happy about being told how to talk to you. So I would take precautions against possible bad situations playing out.” Mycroft explained, I groaned.

“Great, the recipe for disaster just got worse.” I really wished that Mummy wasn't so damn stubborn right now; she had always been such a force of nature. I wouldn’t put it past her to throw all caution to the wind by the end of the week and just go for it with me, and I _really_ did not want to see that aftermath.

“I’m trying to run intervention Sherlock; it’s not easy circumnavigating potential crisis moments. But there are going to be only so many times I can change a subject or distract our parents before they get very annoyed with me for doing it. So I’m sorry to say that you are going to have to brace yourself for some tough moments. But rest assured I have the guards here to intervene if it is needed, and Doctor Hardwick is on speed dial if you need to talk to her.” Mycroft sounded quite bored as he told me all of this. _Wow, even keeping you from hurting your parents is seen as an inconvenience._

“I have also made sure that John, Detective Inspector Lestrade, Mrs Hudson and Miss Molly Hooper are spending Christmas together, so they are also free for a chat if it is needed. In fact, I think they would be delighted to hear from you at some point, so talking to them is a great excuse to leave a stressful situation over here.” Mycroft continued, spinning his umbrella between his fingers.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” I answered, mentally relaxing a little, I had options to get out and calm down, this was good news. Better news than I was expecting.

“Good,” Mycroft hesitated, “You are doing well so far. Much better than I was expecting if I am being honest.” He _what?_

“Turning sentimental in your old age?” I raised an eyebrow, covering over the idea that... that Mycroft was... was that even praise? Could that count as praise from my aloof big brother?

“No, of course not. I’m just simply grateful for the break from our usual Christmas proceedings.” Mycroft answered, that was a lie - that was a cover for actual feelings. _Since when does Mycroft have feelings?! Let alone towards anything **you** do?! _

“Yes well, go eat some food, your diet won’t thank you but it is the season.” I couldn’t quite manage an insult there, or a brush off... why the hell did Mycroft have to keep on with these damn weird messages of thanks or whatever they were?!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments/kudos! What do you guys think of the Holmes brother banter? I took a bit of inspiration from HLV, and I think I did alright if I'm honest - writing these two bantering is hard!


	145. Chapter 145

144 Sherlock's POV                                                             

Mycroft kept away from weird messages of thanks for the evening, thank God. And conversation managed to flow well enough; keeping us from going off onto topics I didn’t want to talk about. We managed to be like a family for once, and it was nice I supposed. I mean, it wasn't like it was a great time, I would have preferred to be on my own, or at least with John who partially understood, but it was better than I was expecting.

Of course, that had to go wrong once I fell asleep.

I hadn’t expecting to fall asleep anytime that night really, but as soon as I was alone in Mycroft’s living room, everybody else taking Loki out for a walk, I felt exhaustion take over and I fell asleep.

_The assassin took a swing at me; I ducked out of the way, swinging my leg round to kick his knees out from underneath him. He overbalanced but righted himself again, landing a kick to my side, the fifth rib cracking._

_Pain ran up my side but I ignored it, blocking his next punch, landing one of my own to his stomach._

_“Think that’s going to stop me? You’ve got another thing coming.” The American grinned, twisting my arm behind my back and slamming me into the wall._

_“Not so tough now are you? I’m going to takes **so** much pleasure killing you, more than I would have if I’d shot that soldier friend of yours.” He hissed into my ear. _

_“Not a chance.” I slammed my free elbow into his nose, feeling it crack._

_He stumbled backwards, releasing his grip. I used his relaxed grip to use his momentum against him, twisting and slamming my hand into the back of his neck. He fell to the ground, I raced to grab my gun, but he yanked my ankle out from underneath me, my body slamming into the concrete._

_“You were saying?” He yanked me closer, a punch landing to my face and a hand closing down on my windpipe, “Feel that? Feel the air struggling to get in? You can’t breathe can you?”_

_I struggled to grab my gun, my fingers were so close, I just had to stretch a little! But it was so hard, my vision was blurring, my lungs burning for air, fingers tingling with the lack of oxygenated blood._

_“Vision going black yet? It should be, and soon you’ll be dead. Then I’ll go after that soldier and kill him too. You fell off a building for **nothing.** ” _

_BANG._

_The gun went off, bullet tearing through John’s assassins throat, right through the carotid. Blood gushed everywhere, covering our clothes and my face in spurts._

_“Looks like I didn’t.” I shoved him off, pocketing the gun, starting the check for any identifying documents._

_“Sh..Sherlock.” A voice whispered weakly._

_That wasn't an American accent..._

_I looked up at the body, and it suddenly felt like my heart had been hit with a bullet. That was John. I’d... that was **John.** I’d shot John, oh God John was dying!_

_“John! John no... You weren’t supposed to be here. You weren’t supposed to be here!” I scrambled to stop the bleeding, but there was so much! Oh God there was so much blood._

_I felt tears roll down my face, drying blood rolling down my cheeks._

_“You... You were supposed to... protect me. You... You failed... You were supposed...” John wheezed._

_“No! You were at home, what are you doing here?! You were at home; I left you at home for a reason! You weren’t supposed to see this, oh God John!” I couldn’t save him, he was dying because of me and now I couldn’t save him!_

_A bark sounded in the background._

_“This... Is.... Your... Fault... You... K-Killed me...” John choked one more time, before falling silent and still._

_“John! John no! JOHN!”_

Another bark and I suddenly was back in Mycroft’s house, his front room to be precise.

“Myc.... Mycroft’s house. Fuck.” I heaved in breath, Loki still licking at my face obsessively.

“Get off me!” I pushed the dog away, falling back onto the sofa, willing myself to calm down. My hands were shaking, heart pounding loudly in my ears. I could almost feel the blood on my skin, the gun in my hands; John’s dying words reverberating through my mind.

“Sherlock...” Another whisper, I tensed, that was too familiar to my dream, so damn similar.

Slowly I turned and tensed even more. Mummy, Daddy and Mycroft were standing on the other side of the room, staring at me with shocked and scared eyes.

“Oh Sherlock, you were... you were shouting so loudly.” Mummy’s eyes teared up, taking a step towards me.

“NO! No... No keep away!” I scrambled upright, panic settling deep in my chest. She couldn’t get closer! Not right now! She couldn’t get closer, I’d... I’d hurt her! Not like John, I couldn’t hurt her like I did John, not in that dream, not like I did in real life. Oh _God._

“Mummy, it’s best to listen right now.” Mycroft tried to pull her back, but she kept on coming closer.

Loki put himself between us, pushing her away, but she ignored him too, almost backing me into a corner.

“Stay away from me! I’ll hurt you!” I couldn’t push her back, but I couldn’t escape either!

“It’s okay Sherlock, it’s just me.” Mummy reached out, NO!

“Mummy, this is what I was talking about earlier!” Mycroft warned, holding Daddy back.

“It’s a nightmare; I can deal with a nightmare! Now come here Sherlock, we’ll talk about it and it’ll be okay.” Mummy touched my cheek, tried to pull me into a hug.

“No! Don’t touch me!” I pushed her out of the way and raced out of the room, not daring to look back. I didn’t want to see the pain I just caused, or cause more. I had to get out of the way before someone got seriously hurt, if they weren’t already. I had to get away!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly - OMG over 21000 views! That's CRAZY! Thank you all so much for reading!  
> Secondly - I'm really not too happy with how this chapter turned out, it wasn't exactly what I wanted, but even after rewriting several times I could not get it to work properly. Sorry about that!


	146. Chapter 146

145 Sherlock's POV

I slammed the door behind me, heaving in breath and sinking down the door to curl up on the floor. I’d nearly hurt my Mum, my own Mum, I’d nearly _hurt_ her. I could have hurt her, I shoved her quite hard, oh God what if I’d hurt her?! If I had, oh God what did I do if I had?! She was my _Mum,_ I loved her, how could I hurt her just because she’d gotten too close? What was I doing?! All I’d done was have a nightmare, that was all, just a damn _nightmare_ and now I was nearing hurting my own Mother because I was scared.

It hadn’t even been a flashback, I’d dreamt of hurting John, of _killing_ him. But I knew he was alive, he was definitely alive because he had to be, the last time I’d seen him just two days ago, he’d been alive. Why wouldn’t he be alive now?! Mycroft would have told me if he wasn't still alive, he wouldn’t leave that information out.

So why did it feel like he was dead? Like I’d killed him with my bare hands and had now lashed out at my Mother because of the memory? _Because you are capable of it. You nearly strangled him to death a few weeks ago, just before Loki came into your life. It wouldn’t be hard to put a bullet through his brain and end his life. Same with Mummy, one small bullet, a few well placed punches if a gun isn’t at hand, and she’d be gone too._

Oh _God,_ what if I had really hurt her, what if John was dead too? It felt so _real,_ like I’d lost them both in the space of a few minutes. I couldn’t, I couldn’t think, I could do anything. What did I do? What could I possibly do? This was... this wasn't okay, I didn’t know what to do...

“Sherlock! Sherlock its okay, you can come out. You didn’t hurt Mummy, she’s a little shocked, but she’s safe.” Mycroft rattled the door handle.

“I-I, I could have... I could... If I wanted... I could...” I couldn’t thread a sentence together, shaking so much I could barely get words out in the first place.

“You had a nightmare, and you were scared. Mummy made the mistake of trying to comfort you in the wrong way, and you reacted like you always do, there’s nothing wrong with that. She’s not hurt, so no harm was done. So you can come out now.” Mycroft explained, I didn’t believe him.

“B-But John... a-and it felt so _real._ I-It can’t be real.” I could still see his dead face every time I closed my eyes, I could see him dead, I could see Mummy dead, I could see it all going so wrong.

“What happened with John is the reason why we got you Loki. And right now he is outside the door, pawing to get inside to see you. None of what you saw in your dreams is real; at least it is not real right now. You are safe; the people you love are also safe.” Mycroft leant against the door, “Would you like to phone Doctor Hardwick?”

“I...” I didn’t know, I didn’t know what I wanted to do. All I wanted really was to know that John was safe, that everyone I loved was safe. How could I do that with a phone call to a psychiatrist?

“Think about it. But at least let Loki in though, before he scratches the door apart.” Mycroft sighed, the scratching becoming louder next to my ear.

“No. No, leave me alone.” I wasn't going to move, I didn’t want to see anybody right now, not even Loki. I just wanted to hear John’s voice talking to me, I wanted him to talk to me, tell me he was okay and was still alive, that he didn’t mind my presence.

I wanted to be alone, but I wanted him hear too. I wanted him here, with no fear of me hurting him or anything. I just wanted to know he was okay, that the dream was just a dream. _What if it wasn't though? What if it was real? It felt real enough..._

No because John was okay, he was okay because he’d always be okay and when I saw him last he was alive and well. He wasn't gone in the mean time, he hadn’t left or died or anything because Mycroft would have told me about it because he wasn't going to lie to me about these things anymore but why did it have to feel so _real?_ It felt like John wasn't here anymore and I didn’t know what to do with this fact because it was John and I needed him, even more than I needed anybody else and I had actually hurt him just a few weeks ago but I needed him _now._ More than I needed Loki, more than I needed Mummy, more than I needed Doctor Hardwick. I just needed to hear John, know he was alive and the dream _wasn't real._ I could deal with everything else later; I just needed to know he was alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still don't know anything about uni yet. Should be finding out this week if I'm lucky, I'll let you guys know if there's any changes that need to be made to the update schedule as soon as I know!


	147. Chapter 147

146 John's POV

Even with Mrs Hudson, Lestrade and Molly in the flat, it didn’t feel right. It felt... it felt _awkward_ to sit here, in 221b, without Sherlock. Especially as half of Sherlock’s things weren’t here anymore. Most of his things were now at Mycroft’s mansion, so now it was just the stuff left over and a few things of mine, leaving so much empty space. No microscopes or an excess of paper on the tables, nothing hazardous in the fridge (not that there had been anything in a while), no skull on the mantelpiece. The flat looked, well, _like a flat._ Not Sherlock’s flat, and without Sherlock there, it felt so wrong.

“So... Do you think he’ll call over Christmas?” Molly asked, breaking the awkward silence.

“I don’t know, I hope so. But I don’t really know, cause he may be busy, or he may forget, he’s not exactly one for remembering social niceties.” I shrugged, wishing I knew if Sherlock would call us or not.

It was half the reason why we had all gathered here anyway, to talk to Sherlock together if he called, give him some support or something. He’d been so worried about Christmas, I’d wanted to give him support, and if I couldn’t be there in person, I could at least be here over the phone, and have on hand everyone else he cared about if they needed them.

The other half of the reason was because well, none of us really had anybody else to talk to over Christmas. Lestrade had split with his wife for definite, Molly’s engagement hadn’t ended well and so she didn’t have anybody and Mrs Hudson didn’t really fancy travelling to her sister’s with her hip this year. I didn’t really want to spend Christmas with Harry either, so we had all thought it would be a good idea to spend it together, like that one party we had had years ago.

Turns out it wasn't as fun to be in 221b without Sherlock brightening up the place in his own special way.

“How is he doing anyway, apart from all this ‘he’s fine’ business? Is he actually getting better or...?” Greg asked, fiddling with his beer bottle from his perch on the sofa edge. None of us could bring ourselves to sit on Sherlock’s chair, because it felt so _wrong_ to sit there, so we were perching everywhere else. Though even the sofa felt wrong, seeing as how often Sherlock laid himself on it to think/sleep/sulk/do whatever else he did.

“He’s... He’s doing a bit better I think. It’s hard to tell.” I fought not to mention the fact that we had gotten him sleeping, because sleeping had caused nightmares, which caused him to attack me, which was certainly not good.

“You got him a dog though, didn’t you?” Mrs Hudson prompted.

“Oh yeah, we got him a therapy dog to help him out. Golden Retriever called Loki, he helps to redirect Sherlock’s panics and wake him if he has a nightmare, stuff like that. Sherlock wasn't keen at first, but he’s getting there with him, he’s accepted his help at the very least.” I explained, hoping I wasn't asked to elaborate. It had been hard enough to explain away the bruising to Mrs Hudson, I didn’t fancy doing that again.

“That’ll be fun to explain away at a crime scene.” Greg said sarcastically, trying to lighten the mood.

“He’s a registered therapy dog; you can’t really do anything to separate them. Though I can imagine the Yarder’s reactions to Loki will be fun.” I hoped we got back to that point where Sherlock would be able to go back to crime scenes.

“They’re banned from saying anything. After all they’ve done to him recently they’ve all been given severe cautions. Anderson and Donovan were suspended for a month each too, which to be honest I reckon was Mycroft’s doing. They’re currently on such thin ice that one more comment and they’re out of the force entirely.” Lestrade answered.

“I can’t say that they don’t deserve it.” because they all did, after everything they had said to Sherlock, they deserved to be severely disciplined. And I had a niggling feeling that if they did ever say anything to Sherlock ever again, Mycroft would take some great pleasure in _forcing them to reconsider their opinions._

“Why can I imagine Sherlock teaching the dog to growl at them?” Molly changed the subject, sipping her wine glass.

“Do _not_ encourage him.” Greg nudged her playfully.

“Could be fun to watch though, got to admit.” I could just imagine it now, Donovan not even managing to get a word in edgeways before Loki growled at her, it could make matters worse, but I could imagine it would be a laugh for Sherlock. A small bit of payback for all the trouble her and Anderson had caused him over the years.

“May be, but don’t forget who sorts out the paperwork around here.” Greg sighed.

“We could pass it off to Mycroft; the man does love his paperwork.” I shrugged, because I couldn’t count the amount of times I’d seen Mycroft escape from talking to Sherlock recently due to ‘pressing paperwork.’ I wasn't stupid though, I knew what that meant, he wasn't comfortable talking to his brother anymore, and when things got too awkward or emotional for him, he backed straight out in favour of doing paperwork, to prevent a huge blowout again. Smart move, though still a bit sad, considering the fact that Sherlock was being left alone for too long, he could have needed some time with his big brother.

\--                                                                                                

Sherlock didn’t call throughout Christmas, and Mycroft never sent me a text update either. He had told me he would, but I guessed he got caught up in the family festivities, maybe even looking after his brother properly for a change. I hoped the two had gotten along anyway, even just for the sake of the mysterious Mummy I heard so much about.

But for some reason, I had a bad feeling about all of this, and that I’d return to Sherlock with him much worse than before. Though I wasn't sure how that was possible, and didn’t really fancy finding out either. I didn’t really have a choice though; I wasn't going to abandon Sherlock out of fear of what had happened, I didn’t even know if anything bad had happened to him over Christmas. If his fears were anything to go by, maybe something had happened, but considering I hadn’t had a text from Mycroft, I was hoping that everything had gone smoothly.

Oh who was I kidding, nothing with Sherlock went smoothly right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the all the kudos and the comments, it's great to hear what you guys think of this!  
> Also, I'm sorry to say I still have no idea when I'm going back to uni, all I can give you information wise is 'around the 28th' because I have a timetable, but we're being split into two groups who go in on different days, and we haven't been informed of who is in what group yet (and I don't think my tutors have even decided it themselves yet). Hopefully I'll know by the end of the day, as I've been told that we'll find out everything this week, but don't hold me to that.


	148. Chapter 148

147 Sherlock’s POV

I stayed curled in my room for hours, shaking in fear and praying for this all to blow over, for everyone to go home before I had to face them again. What did I say after that? What could I _possibly_ say after shoving my mother away in a nightmare-fuelled panic? ‘Oh, sorry about that, I had a nightmare and because you had my therapy dog he couldn’t wake me up so I had to shove you out the way before I killed you like I killed John in my dream’? That would have sounded _awful,_ I couldn’t say that! I couldn’t say anything to it!

There was nothing I could do to explain, nothing I could do to make this better. I was still having trouble figuring out what I’d seen in the nightmare. It felt like John was _dead,_ like I’d killed him, but I hadn’t. I _knew_ I hadn’t, but it felt like I had. What if I did kill him one day? What if Loki wasn't with me again, and I killed John because I was so far gone into nightmares and flashbacks I couldn’t tell he wasn't trying to kill me?

I had no control, there were so many variables, it was all so _wrong._ What was happening to me? What the hell was even _happening_ right now?

_You’re clearly going absolutely mental, I thought that was obvious._ I didn’t want this! _Nobody wants it Sherlock, it just happens and you don’t hear about it because those people are locked away before they cause any more damage to the people around them._

“Sherlock, dinner has been served, and Mummy wants to see you, can you come out now?” Mycroft knocked on the door.

“N-No.” I _couldn’t_ go out there, not right now, not ever! I didn’t know what I was going to do, and I didn’t even know what damage I’d caused Mummy either. Mycroft could have been lying to me earlier to calm me down, I didn’t know!

“Well I may have to insist, Mummy’s fine, and she as well as Daddy want to know that you’re alright. They’re very worried.” _Mycroft means disappointed, he always means that they’re disappointed in you. Their freak child is even more of a freak. Do you think you’ve gotten to the point where not even your own mother could love you?_

“I can’t, I don’t know,” I started, but Mycroft got there first.

“You don’t know what you’re going to do when you see them? Simple, you’re going to say you’re sorry, which I know you are, and then eat dinner with us. I have already done a lot of the damage control, they understand more than you realise in this situation, they’re shaken, but they will let it go and move on. I think you should too.”

“I-I don’t believe you.” I couldn’t, not after what had happened, who just _moved on_ from their son attacking them like that? _Nobody._

“Which is why I brought proof, I’m going to slide a tablet under the door and on the screen is a feed from the dining hall. You can see for yourself that our parents are fine,” The tablet slid under the door frame, revealing as Mycroft said. Our parents were fine; Mummy didn’t look physically hurt, though she did look upset. Daddy was holding her hand, telling her ‘he’s just a little unwell, you know what he’s like when he’s stressed, and he’s had more than enough stress for a life time these past few years’ from what I could tell by lip reading.

“If you scroll back, you can also find a live feed to Baker Street, where your friends, including John, are together. They’re all perfectly safe too.” Mycroft continued, I did as he said, and true enough, John, Mrs Hudson, Lestrade and Molly were in Baker Street, talking and eating together.

John looked reasonably happy, if just a little preoccupied. But preoccupied was fine as long as he was alive and well, and that he was, alive and well. _For now, until you get your hands on him._

“W-What’s going to happen to me Myckie?” I whispered, scared of the answer.

“We’re going to finish our Christmas visit, while making sure Loki is with you at all times. If you feel like you’re falling asleep, or like you’re getting too stressed, then you can come back to your room to do whatever it is you need to do... And, we’re going to try and make this as normal as possible, all things considered.” Mycroft sighed; there was a small thump as he sat on the floor, leaning back against the door.

“A-And after that?” I pushed a little, preparing to try and not wince.

“After that, we’re going to have another long chat with Doctor Hardwick, and continue to work with you to help battle your nightmares... They have started to twist now, haven’t they?” Mycroft asked, I wasn't sure if I should be glad that he could deduce that or not.

“They’ve... They’re not just flashbacks no...” I hesitated for a second, “It’s more... It’s just more.” I bottled out from telling the complete truth.

“I understand. I will talk to Doctor Hardwick later on, to see if there’s anything she can do remotely to help. If not, I’m sure between the two of us we can think of something. Now, are you going to come out and join us?” Mycroft asked, _don’t do it._

“I-In a minute. I, I need a minute.” I could do this, I could... I just needed to stay far enough away, and to cover myself up a bit more.

“Of course, take as long as you need brother mine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for all the comments/kudos! Also can I just say how amazed I am by how quick the view count goes up on this? It's about a hundred views ever update, and that is INSANE! Thank you all so much for reading, it means so much to me!


	149. Chapter 149

148 Sherlock's POV

Silence descended the second I walked into the dining room, Daddy cutting himself off mid-sentence as I entered, he and Mummy both trying not to stare. It didn’t work well, their sideways glances made my skin crawl, the elephant in the room screaming so loudly it was almost painful.

But, I persevered, sitting down at the far end of the table, several seats away from the others and starting to eat. Or at least try to, my stomach was feeling too queasy to actually consume anything substantial.

“Nice of you to join us brother dear.” Mycroft broke the silence first, “Daddy was just talking about how he recently lost his glasses down the back of the sofa.”

“Yes, yes... Well, you know how I am, always losing things down the sofa cushions, especially my glasses. Your Mother is always telling me to get them on a chain, but I have a feeling I’d even lose that!” Daddy smiled, he always told that joke when his glasses came up in conversation. Usually it felt like a mundane joke he told out of habit, now it felt like he was desperate to fill the silence and move on from earlier.

_Too bad that’s not happening. You can’t move past this, there’s no way you can move past this mistake. Your own mother is probably now scared of you, how does that feel? You’ve terrified your own **mother.**_

The conversation for the rest of the evening felt so forced, none of it was like previous dinners together. It was all... well, _awkward._ Nobody was going to talk about the elephant in the room, myself included. So we had to figure our way round it as best we could, and our best wasn't enough. Mummy usually filled the room with conversation, but tonight she sat quietly, peering glances at me and only really spoke when spoken to. I didn’t have a clue on what to say either, apart from blurting out a loud apology that would probably end in more tears, so I didn’t really say anything either. Which left Mycroft and Daddy, and even they struggled, so eventually gave up, leaving us in silence.

It was deafening, and felt like it was weighing down on my chest more with every passing second. I didn’t know what to do, waiting it out felt awful, but what else was there to do? There was _nothing,_ and it just... oh God was it awful.

I had to go to bed early to escape the silence, letting Loki follow closely behind me. Even he seemed to be picking up on the atmosphere of the house, giving me sad eyes as the silence continued.

Though, as he curled up in my bed with me, he licked my face, so I took that as a sign that he still wanted to see me. _Congratulations, the only companion you can keep is a dog, and that’s because he’s been trained to stay with you._ At least he stayed, and didn’t judge me! He clearly knew that I wasn't settling down to sleep anytime soon, but he curled up in my bed like always, close enough that I felt his warmth, but far enough away so it didn’t feel claustrophobic.

“Good boy Loki.” I whispered to the dog, scratching behind his ears, earning another face lick.

\--

I completed my morning routine as always - clean teeth, shower and not have a panic attack, dress, style hair as much as I could considering its length, make sure I was completely presentable, take new anti-anxiety pills and head down to the dining hall. The whole time, I resolutely did _not_ think about yesterday, or what today was going to be like.

But at the same time, I could feel anxiety creeping in, whispering that yesterday was going to be repeated again, that I was a danger to everyone around me. I couldn’t get close; I had to stay _away_ from others so I didn’t hurt them again. No matter how much I tried, all I could think about was what could possibly happen today, what I could do to someone if I was pushed the wrong way. I didn’t _want_ to be pushed the wrong way, but I was so scared I was going to, that I was going to just _break down_ and really hurt someone. I was so scared, so damn _scared_ of what could happen, there were so many variables I couldn’t account for, so many things I couldn’t change or safeguard against.

Even with all of our safety measures, Loki, the pills and the guards, yesterday had still happened. What could possibly happen today? If Mummy had recovered (doubtful) she could try to get close again, and while I wanted to hold her close and tell her I was sorry, it wasn't a good idea. She had to stay away, Daddy had to stay away, Mycroft had to stay away. All of them had to keep as far away as they could, without actually leaving, because I doubted that they were actually going to leave.

_You spend half your childhood wanting to be left alone, the one time you **need** to be left alone and nobody pays attention. It’s like they all have a death wish and want you to kill them all. _

“Good morning Sherlock. I trust you had a restful evening.” Mycroft greeted me as I hesitated in the doorway, unsure of what I was going to do now. Go in? Stay here? Return to my room and pretend I hadn’t left?

“Breakfast is getting cold Sherlock, come in and eat something.” My brother continued, I took that as my cue.

I slowly shuffled into the room, seating myself on the opposite side of the table to everybody else, several chairs down from theirs. Risking it, I looked at Mummy and Daddy. **Didn’t sleep well last night. Mummy still a bit shaken, Daddy holding up better.** He always did after childhood meltdowns. Though this wasn't a childhood meltdown, this was a complete _panic_ after a horrific nightmare I hadn’t been expecting. I couldn’t tell if there was a reluctance to speak or if there was nothing to say, what was it?

  _That’s what you get for attacking your own Mother. Both parents are now scared of you, you’ve screwed up so much you’ve made your own parents **scared of you.** Congratulations, you’re actually a psychopath. _

Was I supposed to speak now? Were Mummy and Daddy supposed to talk? I didn’t know, but none of us seemed willing to say anything.

 “H-How was your night?” I ventured, feeling my stomach twist, which was impossible because stomachs couldn’t twist on their own. There had to be some sort of physical intervention, and there wasn't one right now. So why did it have to hurt?

“It was fine dear, just fine.” Mummy flashed a smile, the same smile she always flashed when she wasn't sure on how to deal with something. _Mainly you, have you noticed that?_

“Good... I’m glad...” Where did I follow on from there? Was there anything I could follow from? Why wasn't Mycroft intervening here? He always had something to say!

“Sherlock...” Mummy spoke up again, “Was that... yesterday, was that one of your...” She trailed off. _Was that one of your violent phases, which could lead to the death of someone you love?_

“It was... It was a lapse in control... It won’t happen again, I... I’m working on it.” I whispered the last part, picking apart the pastry on my plate, not feeling all too hungry.

“Oh, is that... is that going well?” Daddy rubbed Mummy’s arm.

“It’s, it’s getting better. There’s, I... I have medications... and Loki, to help out.” I patted the dogs head as it pressed into my leg, calmed by the warmth he was radiating.

“Good, that’s good.” Mummy trailed off again, the silence descending again.

This was worse than coming home from a rehab stint. The awkward silence thickened the air so it felt like I couldn’t breathe, nobody knew what to say, or what to do, it was all... it was horrible. Nobody was talking, like the events of yesterday were still happening now. It felt suffocating, the air sucked out of the room.

“I’m going to go play violin now.” I escaped from the room before my panic rose up again and I did something stupid. I had to escape the silence, the fear that this was going to go wrong again, I needed _out_ before I repeated my actions!

_You’re never escaping it now Sherlock, why would you? You’ve just given your own Mother cause to fear you, that isn’t going to go away easily. If anything, it’s going to stay forever, even when you supposedly ‘get better.’ You’re never going to have another conversation with your own Mother ever again, and it’s all your fault for having a nightmare. Just you wait until John hears about this; he may never want to come back here again when he finds out you still can’t control yourself under medications._

_How long will you last until they all give up and put you in a medically induced coma to keep every around you safe?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments and the kudos!  
> Small update, uni wise: I'm going in on Monday. That is literally all I know about my timetable, because my class is being split into groups and each one has a different timetable, and our tutors haven't finalised the groups yet, so we don't know our timetables! So currently it looks like I'm going in on Monday (when I have to be in and where I have to go is still a mystery) and then I'll find out my timetable! I'll let you know if there's any changes to when I update at the next available opportunity. But if there is a few days missing or something, it's not because I've forgotten, it's because I'm far too exhausted to think straight, let alone sort out another chapter! Apologies in advance if that happens!


	150. Chapter 150

149 Mycroft's POV

I quickly placated our parents before heading after Sherlock, feeling the need to say something to him to calm him down before he had another breakdown. But that was if I could help him, I barely understood what was going on in Sherlock’s head, and certainly didn’t know what to do to save him from more trouble.

My brother was in his living room in his wing, seated at the window and staring out, his fingers running through Loki’s fur. His violin wasn't even in the room, hell it wasn't even in this wing; it was in the wing we all sat in yesterday. Something was definitely not right.

“I thought you were going to play violin now.” I leant against the door, keeping my distance as I figured it would be best for Sherlock’s anxiety.

“Didn’t fancy it.” Sherlock said in a monotone, resting his head on the window.

“I see, or did you just want to hide from our parents?” I didn’t beat around the bush, not seeing the point. I was only going to tip toe so far with Sherlock, he was fragile, but he wasn't made of glass.

“It was a terrible idea to bring them here.” Sherlock answered, fingers burying further in Loki’s fur as the dog nuzzled him. At least he was responding to him now, which should help in some respects.

“Ghastly, but we all know once Mummy gets an idea in her head, there’s no stopping her. At least she’s visiting now and not as soon as you got back, that would have been a disaster.” I dreaded to think how she would have reacted to her son’s wounds bleeding over bed sheets... not well at all.

“She should have seen me then. This... I’m worse now than I was then.” Sherlock curled into himself further. He reminded me so much of his teenage years just then, I remembered him sitting in that exact position many a time during his school half terms. Only then he was depressed about being ‘the school freak’ and ‘universally hated by everyone on the planet.’ That had been easier to deal with than this, the most that escalated to was a few shouting matches and slammed doors until Sherlock got to university. Now, his distress was caused by himself and his own actions, and how could I solve that? I didn’t think I could.

“You haven’t had a violent episode while fully awake since the day we brought you here. All acts of violence since had been created through nightmares, your brain put you attack mode because you were reliving horrid memories. Nobody can be blamed for that.” I tried to sound authoritative, like I knew what I was on about. I really didn’t.

“Still lashed out again though. That’s a bit not good... and, I’m...” Sherlock’s fingers started tapping his patterns against Loki’s head.

“You’re scared it’ll happen again.” I finished for him, Sherlock didn’t say anything.

“Brother mine, you are ill, I’m not about to start laughing at you or holding it over your head. So you can tell me how you feel and what you’re scared of, I’m not about to start holding it against you.” I really, _really_ hated my younger self for being such a horrid brother. I felt like I had lost any and all hope of ever having a meaningful conversation with Sherlock which wasn't related to strategising a plan.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep. You’ll at least phone Hardwick to tell her of the latest development, probably John or anyone else who dares visit, so they keep themselves safe.” Sherlock glared at the window, shuddering a second later.

“I will only tell Doctor Hardwick of what she needs to know. John and anybody else who comes to visit will be given a warning to not push you.” I hated how little trust Sherlock had in me, _why did I have to be such an awful big brother and lose any sort of trust he had in me?_

“And anyway, this is currently only a danger when you sleep, and you don’t sleep during the day usually. If you do, Loki is with you to wake you up if things go wrong. So as I see it, we don’t need to worry about anything as long as you stay awake.” I changed the subject, because really that was the issue here. If we could just keep Sherlock away from nightmares when around people, we would be _fine._ Hopefully. As long as Mummy and Daddy played their parts.

I could run interference if things got a bit too close to the mark though, I could do this easily. Keep Sherlock awake, keep parents from mentioning trigger points, and make sure Loki didn’t wander away from Sherlock. Easy enough list... well, compared to this, it would be easy.

“You don’t know that that is going to work.” Sherlock sighed.

“I don’t, I admit. But it is worth a go at the least, what else are we going to do, lock you in your wing by yourself for the entire holidays? I don’t think so, you’ve been alone enough recently, you’re actually going to spend some time with people for a change.” I hoped the commanding tone worked... or at least pushed him enough to fight back.

“It’s for the best if I stay here.” Sherlock stayed where he was.

“No, it’s not. If anything, my nerves will not take Mummy’s worrying about you. You can play violin and play with Loki all damn week for all I care, but you’re coming with me.” I was not letting Sherlock spend this week alone, he needed socialising, he needed to see that he wasn't hated by our parents. So he was coming with me right now.

“Mycroft-” Sherlock tried to protest.

“Nope, not having it Sherlock, you’re coming with me. I can help you remain calm, and keep everybody safe, but you’re coming with me. You’re not locking yourself away after an incident that was by no fault of your own, so grab whatever you find helps in times of stress and join the rest of us.” I received a groan, but he moved, which was the main thing.

Now if I could actually hold everybody together and keep the family from falling apart, I’d be a very happy man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still no news timetable wise I'm afraid. At this rate I'll find out Sunday night or Monday morning, and if that's the case, I'm going to go MENTAL!  
> Thank you for the comments and kudos, updating this along with my other fics is keeping me (slightly) sane, for which I am immensely grateful.


	151. Chapter 151

150 Sherlock's POV

I had no choice but to follow Mycroft back to our parents, but it was such a big mistake. He had to be able to see that this was a mistake, hadn’t he? He _had_ to see that this wasn't going to end well... I couldn’t be around people like this, someone else would get hurt, and after what I’d done to John, I didn’t even want to _think_ about risking our parents to something like that. Oh _God_ what was I doing?

“Breathe brother dear, you will not cause another problem, you are completely fine while awake. All we have to do is make sure that you stay awake.” Mycroft caught my hesitance.

“No, I can’t... I can’t... I can’t risk them.” I turned to go, but my wrist was grabbed and I was yanked back again. _Ohhhh Mycroft is playing with fire!_

“ _William_ listen to me, you are _not_ putting out parents in danger. What happened yesterday was a mistake, and one will hope it is not to be repeated. But use your scientific brain for five minutes and think of your past two outbursts, both have been caused by nightmares, which _only_ happen while you’re asleep. Your previous outburst to those two was caused by the imbeciles at Scotland Yard jumping to conclusions that scared you, when you were already scared by a body whose wounds closely resembled those you suffered.” Mycroft held me still, his hand gripping my wrist so hard.

“Mycroft let me go!” I yanked my arm, getting nowhere.

“No. Not until you listen and _calm down._ You are _not_ going to hurt our parents in a violent outburst, because they are caused by stimulus which you are not going to be submitted to right now. Even if you were, you have a dog specially trained to calm you down, several guards ready to catch you before something happens, and me, who will be distracting our parents if they venture into topics we don’t want to discuss. Your violin is also in the room with us, along with one of your dressing gowns, _and_ your weighted blanket. You have everything you need to remain calm and then some more on top; you _are not going to hurt our parents._ Analyse that data, understand what I am saying, and join us for the rest of Christmas. Is that understood?” Mycroft remained strong, his grip on my wrist starting to _hurt._

“Mycroft, I suggest you let go of me before I do something I regret.” It took _everything_ I had to not attack him, his hold on me felt too much like I was in some dark cell with a torturer. He had to let go _right this instant._ I could see my entire attack plan in my mind. One punch to the gut, another to the nose and a knee to the side of the head would knock him out. The guards would descend and I’d have approximately ten seconds of a head start run away from them. I wouldn’t get far, but I’d run anyway, head towards the nearest room with a window, jump out of it and _run._

“Only if you join us. You are not in danger of hurting someone with all the measures we have in place, so come along and join the family, there’s three more days left and I am not dealing with them by myself.” Mycroft glared.

“Fine. But if someone gets hurt, it’s _your_ fault, got that?” I managed to yank my arm out from his, sounding a hell of a lot more self assured than I felt.

“That’s fine, because nothing is going to happen, so I have nothing to be blamed for.” Mycroft smirked; _you can still punch him now, blame it on him for grabbing you like that, and spend the rest of this trip under heavy sedation._

“Get moving. You better be right about this.” I rubbed at my wrist, following along behind him at a safe distance. **Keep breathing, everything will be okay. Just make it to the violin and the dressing gown.** I needed to play, feel the strings vibrate under my fingers, the music flow through my being and allow it to move my body, feel the dressing gown move around my body in the way it did. I _needed_ that, right now, I _needed_ it.

Entering the living room, I went straight for the armchair with my things on. The silk dressing gown settled over my shoulders and fell around my body with a minor swirl of fabric. My violin felt like water in the desert, I could breathe better while holding it. I could, I could manage... maybe. Just a little better at least, but I could manage.

So I played, filling the room’s silence, blocking out the noise in my mind at the same time, allowing music to work its magic until I could breathe and not solely think of what could happen. If there was any sign of anybody talking to me, I didn’t hear it; I barely even noticed that Loki was still in the room. All I thought of was the music, refusing to let anything else in, because nothing else could ever get in, not right now. Not until I could breathe and think of something other than violence, my heart rate slowing to normal pace, the world righting itself to whatever it had been before my outburst.

I just had to keep going, keep pushing with the violin, until it all went away. I had to stay awake, had to stay calm and out of trouble too. The only thing I had right now that I knew kept me calm and awake was this violin, so I had to keep on playing. Playing and playing until it all went quiet. Then maybe, just maybe, I could join in a little. Not much, but just a tiny bit, to make Mummy happy.

Though if she ever could talk to me again was another matter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a timetable! I should be able to update as normal, though maybe at weird times as Friday's I won't be home until about 5ish, though I don't have to leave the house until 9am, so I may some days be up early enough to update first thing, I'm not sure yet! I'll let you know if anything changes!


	152. Chapter 152

151 Sherlock's POV                          

I played and played until my arms ached and my fingers nearly bled. I hadn’t played for that extended amount of time in years; I honestly couldn’t remember the last time I had played for several uninterrupted hours. I certainly hadn’t ached like that since I was a child, when I was first learning to play. It felt good though, it was a good ache, one I would happily accept in exchange for getting to play my violin without fear or worry.

“Sherlock, I said are you joining us for dinner?” Mycroft’s voice broke the peaceful atmosphere I’d built up, reminding me that I wasn't actually alone.

“I... yes, if I... if I must.” I caught a glimpse of Mummy, feeling a pang of regret just at looking at her. I hadn’t even left a physical mark, hadn’t even done enough to actually hurt her, but there had been potential to, and that scared me more than I thought possible. _It’s going to happen sooner or later. You’re going to slip up and hurt her, even when you’re awake._

I followed them out to the dining room, still keeping a distance of six feet. Six feet gave everybody enough reaction time to move out of the way if something went wrong, while remaining close enough it didn’t feel like I was a completely separate entity to my family. Though, I couldn’t do that at the dining table, all I could do was sit several chairs down, on the opposite side to my parents. I couldn’t reach them here, not without giving more than enough fair warning.

Silence descended again, cutlery hitting the plates being the only sound in the room. _Keeping up appearances, not acting completely freaked out because you’re in the room._ The thought made me feel sick, I hated this, the silence was making my skin crawl. Couldn’t we just _pretend_ for five minutes that I was normal? That yesterday didn’t happen? Couldn’t we all just pretend, please? So this wasn't made worse by echoes of yesterday, and of far too many family dinners spent in silence because of me.

_Remember the day you got your Aspergers diagnosis? Nobody knew what to do or what to say. How about the day you found out that Redbeard was dead? Silence reigned over the house for an entire week until you were shipped back to school again. Of course nobody knows what to say now; they didn’t know how to react to you being an autistic, or how to deal with you when your best friend died. How do you think they’d cope with you being a violent psychopath?_

“Sherlock, what were you playing in the living room? Was it Mozart?” Mycroft finally asked, after swallowing another mouthful of steak. How was he even eating right now? Did he not feel the tension in the room pressing on him like I was?

“It... No, it was... It was a mixture of things, no set piece.” I couldn’t even remember what I was playing. I just thought of hand movements and swirling dressing gowns.

“Was... Was it a composition? You, you always liked to compose.” Mummy spoke up, surprising me a little. I wasn't expecting her to talk at all...

“No. Not a composition. Other people’s work, all thrown in... Whatever came to mind.” I still couldn’t look at her, preferring to break off a bit of steak for Loki to eat, as a reward for sticking close today. _He’s trained to do that stupid._ It was still appreciated. _Feeling lonely are we?_

“It sounded very good Sherlock.” Daddy complimented, hand protectively staying on Mummy’s back, had he moved his hand from there all day? I didn’t think he had...

“Th... Thanks.” I smiled weakly, awkward silence settling in again.

The awkwardness settled in for _days,_ for the entire rest of the visit from our parents. They didn’t know what to say to me, I didn’t know what to say to them, they didn’t dare reach out for me; I kept my distance from them. And while I knew it was for their own safety, it felt _awful._ Absolutely awful to know I had scared my own parents enough that they couldn’t even talk to me from across the room anymore.

But they had barely any issue talking to Mycroft, as always, they could talk to Mycroft. Not while I was in the room, obviously. I caught them though, before I came into a room, they spoke freely to him. Mostly about me, and it was generally Mycroft telling them that my therapy was helping. As soon as I walked into a room though, I made silence fall again, everybody watching me out the corner of their eyes, like they were waiting for me to snap.

It hurt, it hurt _so much_ to sit there and be shut out like that, no matter how unintentional it was. I was being shut out from my own family, all because I couldn’t even control myself long enough to not react to a nightmare. I couldn’t... this was horrible, being shut out like this. But I couldn’t do anything to stop it, all I could do was watch it happen and try not to show it affected it like this. It was so much like being a child again, standing in the middle of a family who understood each other and knew how to communicate like normal people, while being unable to do that myself, not properly. All I had again was a dog to keep me company, who stayed by my side no matter what, it _hurt_ so much.

I wanted nothing more than to reach out and touch, but I didn’t dare. In case something went wrong, I didn’t want to hurt anybody again, but my God did I want to fall into someone’s arms and feel included and loved for just a _minute._ It was all I wanted right now, to hold onto someone, and be held in return, without being scared of hurting them and know that they loved me too. But all I had was Loki, and while he was nice to be around, he wasn't... he wasn't enough. He was a _dog,_ not another human being. I wanted human interaction and to be _close_ to someone again.

Why couldn’t I just be close? Why did I have to screw up so much I couldn’t even be close to someone without being so scared to hurt them I had to back off again?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have made it through two days of uni. Yesterday I wanted to pass out, but today I seem fine, so I think it's going well, despite heavy bag/early mornings. I should also be able to keep up with my homework and writing this too, as I've got train journeys and 4 days off a week. Whether my original work gets shoved aside is another matter, I shall see about that!


	153. Chapter 153

152 Sherlock's POV

“So how was Christmas, Sherlock?” Hardwick asked the day after my parents left.

“Like you don’t already know.” I didn’t want to talk about it, not a single bit of the previous week. Not even the violin playing, which there had been a lot of.

“I only have an overview, saying that there was a small incident and the rest of the trip was spent a little awkwardly. I’d like you to elaborate on that.” Hardwick answered, eyes skimming over me.

I was only sat on the damn floor, back to the wall, wrapped in my weighted blanket and Loki resting on my lap. My hands were buried in Loki’s fur, stroking through the silky fur. He’d been an acceptable replacement for human interaction recently, he didn’t seem to care that I was dangerous, he stayed with me anyway. It was... It was nice I guess, to have someone by my side all the time, who let me touch them without shying away. _I thought you weren’t going to get attached to him._ I had no other bloody choice, it was a choice between letting Loki in, or being completely alone. For once, I was going to take Loki, even if it was just because he was trained to help.

“Watch a video of the incident, it’ll tell you all you need to know about my Christmas.” I glared at Hardwick, wishing she would drop the subject. I didn’t want to talk about it, it was bad enough I had to live through it, I wasn't about to relive it for the benefit of a therapist.

“Did you try some of my relaxation techniques at all?” Hardwick asked, leaning forward in her chair.

“They did fuck all. The only thing that did help was playing music on the violin.” I missed my instrument; it was across the room, where I had placed it when this therapy session started. I wished I hadn’t put it down now. _Too late._

“How did that help then?” Hardwick pressed.

“Calmer. Like I didn’t need to think of anything. I just, my mind cleared... I didn’t have to talk to anybody when I was playing.” I answered; there wasn't another way to explain it. Playing my violin helped, usually it helped me think, but now it helped me to _not_ think.

“And it was easier to be left alone to play than it was to work your way round a conversation where nobody knows what to say.” Hardwick surmised, I nodded, “I see. Has playing always helped you like this, or is it a more recent development?”

“I’ve played ever since the age of seven, I always liked the vibrations on my fingers and how it felt to create music. I, I guess it was a bit calming. Mostly it just helped me think.” I shrugged, not sure what to say.

“But this time it didn’t?” Hardwick had me nodding again, “Interesting... Do you usually play in social situations you’re not sure of?”

I thought briefly back to when Lestrade brought John round, before he was acting civil towards me. I’d plucked at my violin then... and at our last group Christmas party, during the case with The Woman... I’d also been holding onto my violin like a life line.

“I... I think so yes. It helps, gives me something to do.” I trailed off.

“It also gives you an excuse not to talk to someone. You can perform and not have to talk, because you’re busy being musical... Does it make you feel more normal when you’re playing while stressed?” That was a question I wasn't expecting...

“I don’t know.” I shrugged, I never thought of it like that. Did I feel normal when I played when stressed?

“Think about it, playing violin helps you to reroute meltdowns, and avoid conversations you don’t want to have. Do you think it helps you feel normal too? Or, did it at least make you feel normal this week?” Hardwick pushed, though her tone of voice wasn't exactly pushy. More conversational, like she was asking me about the weather, not an existential question like that.

“This week didn’t make me feel normal no. It just created a distraction for everyone so we could all pretend we were normal.” I answered eventually, I didn’t feel _normal_ when playing violin. Being in 221b with John, solving crimes and eating takeaway, that made me feel normal. Violin didn’t make me feel normal; it just helped me to think and distracted me when I needed it. Really it was there as a distraction and a comfort object, like my skull. _You have far too many comfort objects for a grown bloody adult. Then again, grown adults have impulse control. You don’t._

“Ah, and did you want this week to feel normal?” Hardwick asked her first stupid question.

“No, I wanted it to be that awkward, so I felt like a danger to my own _family._ Of course I wanted it to feel like _normal._ ” I sneered at her, how the hell could she do so well usually, then come out with a question like _that?_

“Okay, no need to be rude Sherlock, I was only asking. I’m guessing you still don’t feel all too normal right now,” I rolled my eyes, of course I bloody didn’t, “I’ll see what I can do about that.”

“You can’t do anything, there’s nothing anybody could do.” There wasn't, not unless they could take away all of my violent thoughts and urges, and get everybody’s trust back, so I could think about getting close and having a conversation with someone. That was an impossible task though, so there was no point.

“I’m sure there is. We just have to figure it out.” Hardwick smiled.

“Take away the violent urges and get back everybody’s trust in me, so I can start to think of getting close to them again, then we’ll talk.” I sneered again; couldn’t she see that _that_ was what I needed to be normal? That’s what I wanted to happen, so I could feel like an actual human being again. If she could give me that, then we could talk.

“You can get close to them Sherlock, they will allow you to get close. It’s you who’s stopping it from happening.” Hardwick sighed with sympathy, _yeah, sympathy because she thinks you’re a helpless case. She may be saying you can get close, but she’s lying to make you feel better._

“Of course, that’s why there’s _fear_ in people’s eyes and body language when they look at me. Of _course_ they’re not scared to come near me at all. It’s all in my head and all my brain telling me that it’s not okay to go near someone else in case I hurt them. _Sure_ it is. Next time, try and come up with a better lie than that, that way I may believe it. Now if you excuse me, John’s coming round in an hour and I have to get ready.” I got up and swept out the room, not prepared to have a conversation like that.

It wasn't just my brain telling me I was dangerous, I _was_ dangerous, everybody knew it. That’s why they didn’t come near me, not because I didn’t let them, but because they didn’t let _themselves._ I was dangerous to them; I could kill them, that’s why they stayed away from my reach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friday's now won't have slightly late update times, as we've changed our lecture time to 10am instead of 11am. This'll get me home a hell of a lot quicker than originally planned, so hopefully things won't get updated too late on Friday's! Also, if there's no update on Sunday, it's not because I've forgotten, it's because I'm ill and have a lot to do, so I may not have time/energy. If that happens, I'll update Monday!


	154. Chapter 154

153 Sherlock's POV

I didn’t have to get ready for John, not really. I was already showered, dressed and styled as much as I could be. But I couldn’t think of the risk involved in getting close to someone, I just couldn’t, it was... it would end badly. It was clear nobody really trusted me to get close to them, I certainly didn’t. And I certainly didn’t want to talk to a therapist who thought differently, because she was _wrong._ She was right and good in other ways, but this, she was _so_ wrong about, and I wasn't going to let her convince me of anything else.

And all that talk of being and feeling normal, how could Hardwick have possibly helped me with that? She couldn’t, nobody could. I was... I was just... it wasn't happening. It couldn’t, not while all I could think about was squeezing the life out of John, of hurting Mummy, of all the destruction these hands had caused. All because this bloody brain of mine wouldn’t _stop_ thinking I was still at war, thinking everybody who got close was an enemy.

Loki whined at me, making me realise I was pacing up and down my bedroom, my fingers tapping against my thumbs.

“I’m fine; don’t look at me like that.” I glared at him, _you’re talking to a dog now, well done, a new low has been reached._ People talked to their pets all the time, this was utterly normal.

Loki looked at me as if to say ‘you’re not okay right now,’ his head tilting to the side.

“I’m fine! I’m _completely_ fine, there’s no need for concern.” I told him, glancing up at my reflection in the mirror, “I am fine. I just... I just want to feel normal.” I sighed, taking in my reflection.

Still about five pounds underweight, dark circles bruising my eyes, pale from lack of sunlight, little sleep and too much worry. Suit on perfectly, shirt matching my dressing gown, yet the bare feet gave away that I wasn't alright. No need to even see my ridiculously long hair to know that.

_None of this looks ‘normal’ for you. You look like a bloody junkie again; actually you probably looked **better** as a junkie than you do now. _

Well there was nothing I could do about that right this second, it wasn't like I could magic away my troubles and go back to who I was before, it wasn't possible. I was going to have to deal with it, wasn't like I could do anything about it anyway...

“Sherlock! There you are, didn’t you hear me calling?” John suddenly appeared in the doorway. A flash of him dead on the floor flashed before my eyes, just like he had been in my dream.

“When did you arrive?!” I blurted out, heart racing at the sight of him and the memory of the dream. I hadn’t expected him so early, not while I was stuck in my own thoughts. _Stay away, you’re already in defence mode after that, one false move and you could attack._

“About ten minutes ago, I went to your front room and saw you weren’t there, so I went wandering until I found you here. Everything alright? You look a little, well, like you saw a ghost.” John asked, not attempting to get closer. _Good plan there John, stay away before the dream becomes real._

“Fine, I just... it’s been a tough week.” I admitted, wondering how this was going to go. John had clearly had a good Christmas, he’d put on three pounds, and I’d seen him laughing on that video feed, he’d looked happy. Everyone had looked happy; I half wished I’d joined them, though we all knew that that would have been a _bad_ idea.

“Right, want to talk about it?” John offered.

“No, it’s alright. Just, family is stressful, you know how it is.” I shrugged it off; I wasn't ever telling John what happened to me over the past week. I wasn't going to give him one more excuse to run far, far away and never return.

“Do I ever. Sure you don’t want to talk about it, Mrs Hudson made cake for us all, and there’s two slices left, perfect to eat over a chat.” John waved a cake box enticingly.

“It’s fine, really.” I insisted, stepping back a bit.

“Alright, if you insist. But if you know where I am if you want to talk, I’m a pretty good listener according to Mrs Hudson.” John smiled kindly; _well you’re never taking up that offer,_ “I heard though that you took up violin again over the holidays. Fancy playing me something? It’s been a while.”

“If you want, I can do that.” Oh thank _God_ he suggested that, I could play violin for him. I could play a _lot_ of violin for John, all the violin he could ever want and more.

So, we headed back to the front room, always keeping a distance as John told me of his Christmas with our friends, and everything I’d missed since arriving here. I played for him as he did so, letting his words and the music flow through the room.

“Oh, before I forget, nobody forgot about you this Christmas either. Molly said that she can provide a whole load of body bits if you want them, including a brain. Lestrade has six cases he thinks you’d find interesting, all sevens or higher. Mrs Hudson is also taking orders for food, she’s in a real baking mood currently, so I’d make the most of it and get some orders in before she runs out of ingredients.” John was saying over the music.

The talk of body parts, cases and baking, the notes falling from my violin, my dressing gown ruffling with every movement, oh it was _so much_ like Baker Street. I almost felt like I was back home, if I wasn't consciously moving my hair out the way every time it fell in the way of the strings, and the room had been decorated the same way, I could have believed that I was home. Oh my God I wanted to go home, so badly, I wanted to go home, where it safe and familiar.

I didn’t get ‘visits,’ I got John simply coming home, there wasn't a time limit on our time together, I saw the people I counted as friends semi-regularly. There were no therapists, no worries of suddenly turning against someone I loved, no damn _voice_ in my head. I wanted it, I wanted that back so badly, but it felt impossible to get that back.

I wanted it all, oh my God did I want that back. I wanted normal, I wanted to be normal again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over 22,000 views?! THAT IS INSANE! Thank you all for reading, you've just made my day!


	155. Chapter 155

154 Sherlock's POV                                               

“Sherlock, are you okay?” John asked, standing up with a confused look of concern.

“I’m fine.” I turned away, trying to continue playing. I was _not_ going to breakdown because I missed home; I wasn't going to show that I wasn't okay. _Too late for that don’t you think?_

“You’re not, did something happen this week while I was away?” John asked again, _don’t you dare tell him you nearly hurt your own mother._

“No, it’s fine John.” I was fine, I was fine, I just missed home. And the only reason why I missed home was because of today’s therapy session, with all the talk of normalcy. I was fine, and would continue to be fine, I just, I needed... I really wanted to be in someone’s company and _not_ feel like a monster waiting for something to go wrong.

“It’s not fine Sherlock, something’s happened to you. Come on, you can tell me, did something happen last week?” John put his hand on my violin, stopping me from playing, all while keeping a safe distance so we didn’t touch. Why couldn’t we touch? Not even like this, why couldn’t our hands be less than a few inches apart? _You know why, you’re a monster who will hurt anyone who comes into contact with you._

“It didn’t, _nothing_ happened.” I wanted to slide my hand closer to his, feel somebody’s touch, but at the same time knew I couldn’t. If I did, I couldn’t even imagine what would happen. I let go of the instrument, weighing John’s safety above my own need for the object, curling up in my chair instead.

John dropped the subject, probably figuring it was for the best that he did, instead changing the subject back to what happened with him over the holidays. It sounded like a bundle of laughs, everybody happy and talking freely, nobody scared to touch anybody else, just like I’d seen it on the monitors.

And _damn it_ if I didn’t miss it, I missed it _so much._ I missed my friends, I missed Baker Street, I missed it all. It had been so long since I had seen Lestrade, Mrs Hudson and Molly, so _damn_ long. There hadn’t even been a phone call between them and me recently, not since... not since that last crime scene. _Well of course they haven’t contacted, who contacts a homicidal nut case? Especially for a social call? Lestrade only talked to you when he needed you to solve his case, Molly talked to you out of some strange romantic affection she had for you and Mrs Hudson was your land lady._ I still missed their contact; I wanted to talk to them again. I loved having John here, but I wanted everybody, and Baker Street. I wanted my life back.

John eventually went home, leaving me feeling more miserable than I had been at the beginning of the day. All the talk of ‘being normal’ and the ache for Baker Street was leaving me wanting to cry out for this all to go away. I wanted it all to be _gone,_ forget the bad stuff and get on with life. But I couldn’t, I was _stuck_ here, and I couldn’t change overnight. I wasn't even sure I could change at all.

It seemed like no matter what I did, I was hit in the face with how wrong everything had gone. I couldn’t even do something as simple as go into my Mind Palace anymore without being reminded of something bad happening. I tried to go inside to get to the mental version of 221b, but it didn’t help. I was only reminded of what had happened recently inside the flat, me knocking John against a wall, avoiding sleep like the plague, acting like doing something as simple as showering wasn't giving me panic attacks. And nothing had improved here either, I still didn’t want to sleep, I still couldn’t shower without having to repress a panic attack, here I still couldn’t control myself enough to not attack someone I cared about! _Therapy is doing you **so** much good for you isn’t it? You’ve made no progress and gained a dog, well done. _

I’d had enough, and I wanted to do something about it. I wanted to do something, _anything,_ to feel like I was even the slightest bit in control, something to make things feel like this was a normal day. But what? There wasn't anything I could do, was there? _No, you’re stuck like this forever, out of control and with no end in sight to any of your issues. You are literally just stuck like this now._

I looked at myself in the mirror again, seeing my usual suit-and-dressing-gown get up, that I couldn’t do anything with. It wasn't like I could just force myself to get more sleep, because I had far too many nightmares to even comprehend that, or cut my ha-

My hair was too long, to the point where it was getting in the way of playing the violin. If I cut it, I would look more like myself. It wouldn’t be as good as usual, but it was better than nothing! _It’s a stupid idea, cutting your hair is going to do fuck all to save you from all this pining._

I raced to find a pair of scissors, skidding into the bathroom and immediately started cutting down the longest bits of hair. Within minutes the bathroom sink and floor were covered in long, dark curls, tickling my feet as I walked over them. Hair now four inches shorter, I felt a bit better, more like myself. The quick cut didn't look perfect, but it did look better than I expected. It was shorter, as I wanted, but long enough to curl at the ends, almost like it used to. _You mean to say you look ridiculous because it’s all uneven._

Unevenness or not, I felt like I could breathe better, seeing and feeling the difference, like at least once visible reminder of what had gone on recently had been erased. The past was still there, but not as strongly, there wasn't a visible reminder for everyone to see that there was something wrong with me. I could almost pass for my normal self right now, and that was what I wanted, to pass for myself. If I could passably look like myself, maybe I could start to move on, start to pretend that this wasn't as bad as it seemed. It was a step in the right direction at least... wasn't it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for comments/kudos, you're making this ill girl very happy!


	156. Chapter 156

155 Sherlock's POV

_I couldn’t stop punching John in the face, I couldn’t stop it! I had to keep on punching, making sure he was dead, not going to hurt me again. He wouldn’t hurt anybody ever again, he wasn't a danger to anybody now, I’d taken care of him, was still taking care of him._

_His facial bones broke under my hands, making sickening cracking sounds, yet he didn't make a sound himself. But I just. Couldn’t. Stop. Hitting. Him. Over and over again, I couldn’t stop!_

_“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” I cried, tears falling down my face as I continued to hit him._

_Tears flowed down my face, wetting my cheeks, sobs shaking their way out of my chest as John’s bones cracked under my fist._

I startled awake, letting out a small scream, finding that Loki was licking my face.

“Loki? Loki, dream, just a dream. It was just a dream.” I whispered, rubbing the Retriever’s fur, watching my own hands, finding no signs of blood or broken bones. I had to check, just in case, and in reassurance that it was just my broken brain screwing with me.

With my other hand, I reached out for the iPad on the bedside table, bringing up a video of Baker Street, checking in on John’s room. The video feed showed me that he was still sleeping peacefully, curled up on his side, his preferred sleeping position. Absolutely fine, and not even a hint of an injury, and definitely not one caused by me.

“Good, that’s good, he’s safe.” I mumbled to myself, watching my friend for a few minutes, reassuring myself, just making sure that he was definitely okay. Not dead, or hurt, or anything similar.

For once, I mentally thanked Mycroft for leaving the iPad with me, with the video feeds set up for easy access. It made mornings easier, relieved some anxiety as I physically watched live video feeds of my friends, so I knew that there was safe. Dreams were dreams, nothing more, everybody was safe, I hadn’t hurt them. I could relax.

“Alright, we should get up, shouldn’t we Loki? Come on.” I also found talking Loki through what I was doing helped calm me down too, the simple idea of talking through a routine was good, it helped somehow. I wasn't going to knock it either; I was doing slightly better now that I had cut my hair. _That’s what you’re telling yourself; you cut it ten hours ago. How do you know that you’re doing better than yesterday? You don’t._

Whatever, I felt better. I had a morning routine and now had physically changed something I hated to give myself a slice of normalcy. Wasn't that what Hardwick and all the other psychiatrists I’d encountered talked about, doing things that made you feel normal and safe? They always seemed to sprout that type of crap all the time to me, and this time I had listened, therefore I shouldn’t be criticised for making the change.

I showered quickly, making sure to take regular, deep breaths to remind myself that I could still breathe and I wasn't about to die. Loki was shuffling around the bathroom, reminding me that he was close to me, so I must be home anyway. Loki hadn’t left the house; therefore I couldn’t be anywhere else but at Mycroft’s house, where I was safe. So I wasn't being water boarded in Serbia, so I wasn't about to die, and so I didn't need to have a panic attack. I could do this, I could always do this, it was just a shower, it could end whenever I wanted it to. Which I did, I climbed out and wrapped a towel around myself, still perfectly safe. Always safe with Loki. I’d always be safe with Loki.

After I dressed in my usual suit, I took a second to look at myself in the mirror, comparing myself to last night, before my hair cut. I had to admit, I didn't look too bad. Still death pale and skinny, but I outwardly looked better. More like myself at least - still too much like my original rehab days, but it was an improvement. Less Sherlock-Holmes-on-the-run-and-fighting-for-his-life and more Sherlock-Holmes-recovering, which was what I wanted. _You still look ridiculous._ Ridiculous, but better than before, and that was what mattered to me.

I headed down to the dining room, finding Mycroft reading a newspaper; he spared a glance at me, no doubt having already been informed of my hair cut.

“Finally, you have picked up a pair of scissors, I was starting to think I was going to have to bring someone else in to sort out the mess that was your hair.” He snorted, straightening his paper.

“It was getting annoying, so it had to go.” I answered, seating myself by the cereal, pouring a bowl and starting to eat.

“Good riddance. You looked homeless.” Mycroft sounded condescending, yet I didn't think he was trying to be. He didn't have his usual sneer on his face, or a gloating look for that matter. He just, he was saying the words but not really meaning it.

“Huh, imagine that, a Holmes without a home.” I answered, feeling good enough that I could joke. _My God, maybe that was all you needed, a hair cut! Poof, excess hair gone and you’re cured! Someone call the press, this has to be recorded forever!_

“So original brother mine. You should have been a comedian instead of a detective. Though, your attempts at hair dressing are laughable enough.” Mycroft teased, it almost felt _normal_ to joke like this. After the week we had had, to sit and joke again felt so good, it was like we used to be. Where we used sarcasm and snark to talk to each other, instead of Mycroft lecturing me and telling me I was an idiot. I could have gotten used to this again.

“You’re just jealous that I have hair to attempt to cut.” I ate another spoonful of cereal.

“Don’t talk with your mouthful, it’s off putting.” Mycroft turned his nose up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments/kudos!


	157. Chapter 157

156 Sherlock's POV

The pleasant feeling soon receded, basically went as soon as Hardwick started to ask me why I cut my hair. She wanted to analyse my actions and see _why_ I did it, when there wasn't an alternative motive. I had wanted all the excess gone and to feel a little more like me, so I cut it off, that was all. I wasn't acting out, wasn't ‘making a positive step forward in recovery’ it was a bloody hair cut, that was _it._

“Why do you have to analyse everything? It’s a haircut, not like I’ve gone and bloody touched someone without it being a violent act.” I glared at her, having had enough of the questions.

“Because your actions are a reflection of your emotions, and when you do something drastic like cutting your hair, I need to know why, so I know what’s going on in your head.” Hardwick answered, I rolled my eyes, “Work with me here Sherlock, it’s like... It’s like when a chemical compound does something unexpected during an experiment, it could be for any number of reasons. Another chemical could have come into contact with it that shouldn’t have, or you’ve done something to it that you didn't mean to. Now you have to find out why the chemical did what it did, so you know what’s going on in the solution. It’s a similar thing here, I’m trying to figure out why the chemical did something unexpected, and because I’m working with a person and not an actual chemical, I need to ask questions instead of running tests. That’s all I’m doing, questioning why you did something unexpectedly.” She elaborated, like I was an idiot. _Well this is now a game of ‘speak slowly to the homicidal psycho, or he will attempt to kill you’ it’s probably best she explains slowly and carefully so you understand._

“I got that, but it wasn't caused by some outside source. I just wanted to feel like me again, and the hair was getting in the way, alright?” I pulled my legs up to my chest, wishing she would drop it already.

“If you say so.” Hardwick shrugged, “Has it worked then? Do you feel more like yourself now?”

“A bit, yes. I’d feel even more like myself if you stopped questioning me on it.” I didn't really want to talk about the differences, because there weren’t many. I _looked_ more like myself, and I managed to have a half argument with Mycroft this morning, even though I wasn't entirely sure what that conversation had been. But a lot of things still felt out of place, the ache for Baker Street still remained, the fear of hurting someone was at the forefront of all my thoughts, telling me over and over I couldn’t get closer to anybody.

“That was all I was going to ask, seeing as you won’t tell me anything else. How about this, earlier on you said that a haircut wasn't a big deal compared to touching someone that wasn't an act of violence. Do you mean to say that you haven’t actually touched anybody recently?” Hardwick asked, _shit, bloody crap. You’re fucked now; it’s going to come out._

“No, I haven’t. If I get close enough to someone, they get hurt. It’s safer for everyone if I just stay clear.” This was a well known fact around here. The last three times I got close to someone, they’d gotten hurt, I wasn't going to try again.

“That is only because you are having a stress reaction to something in your surroundings. If you aren’t stressed in a situation, you should be fine.” I snorted at the idea, “I mean it Sherlock, I’m not just saying this, you can get close to people, you’re not going to suddenly lash out for no reason. The last few times you’ve lashed out, you’ve either been under immense pressure, or been woken from a nightmare just minutes before. The nightmares leave you feeling like you’re still on your mission, giving you the flight or fight response, which causes violent actions. And when you’ve almost been conditioned to lash out under immense pressure after all you’ve been through, it’s an understandable reaction, and nobody is judging you for that.”

“But I can reach out and hold people anyway, because I’m not under pressure or freshly woken from a nightmare now!” I imitated in a stupid voice, “I’ve heard this speech before, Mycroft gave the same one to me while our parents were still here, it doesn’t work. I have no evidence that I won’t hurt somebody when I’m calm, it’s all still possible, and I’m not putting someone I care about in danger simply because I want a hug, alright?” _yes because getting defensive is going to make her stop._

“Do you want to be close to someone again Sherlock? Do you want to be held?” Hardwick asked.

“Doesn’t matter.” I refused to look at her, preferring to fiddle with the collar around Loki’s neck.

“Your needs do matter Sherlock.” Hardwick pushed, resting her arms on her knees as she leant forward. _As if, you’re a psychopath and a monster, why would your needs matter?_

“I have never been one for hugs or any of that nonsense.” I hadn’t, never had I really cared for hugging and the like. Mummy and Daddy had almost insisted on daily hugs when I was a child, but as the years went on the hugs went away and I’d stopped caring about it. I never really wanted to be held or anything, I could go years without it and not care for even a second. _You’ve had enough practice, how long is your record between hugs? About four years if I remember rightly._

“It’s not just hugs, it’s a simple brush of the arm as you pass someone in a corridor, a hand on your arm in support of something, fingers brushing as you get handed something. Simple human contact, it _means_ something, it makes us feel good and included, like we belong. If we don’t have that, we don’t fair too well, and you currently don’t get any of it out of fear of hurting someone you care about. It’s not right Sherlock, you _need_ that interaction, really, you do. Human touch is so important, and not getting it isn’t doing you any good.” Hardwick explained, she sounded like she felt _sorry_ for me.

“I’m not a child, I don’t need human touch. It’s a pointless endeavour to even talk about it because it _can’t_ happen, okay? Now leave it alone.” I hissed, I didn't need human touch, it was stupid and pointless, I didn't need it!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for all the comments/kudos, they mean so much!


	158. Chapter 158

157 John's POV                            

Sherlock had not been okay yesterday, that was for certain. I swore he was nearly _crying_ as he played, and Sherlock _never_ cried. In all my time with him, I didn't think I’d ever seen him cry. At least, not at something as simple as playing his violin, of course he’d cried at his violent mood swings and when he hurt others, but he didn't just cry at simple violin playing. Something was definitely wrong, whether it had happened over Christmas or in therapy, something had happened, and it had to be bad if Sherlock felt emotional enough to cry.

Wondering about it occupied me for half the night and most of my day at the surgery. I barely even paid attention to my patients; it was all just colds, flu and two injections. All boring and things I could without paying complete attention, leaving me to think more on Sherlock and what was happening to him.

I’d been researching a lot, figuring out what exactly was happening to him. Clearly, there was PTSD, and some fears starting to take over. But there was more, based on some of Sherlock’s behaviour, stuff that Mycroft had been used to dealing with. He couldn’t be used to dealing with something unless it happened regularly, and I saw no evidence of some weirder bits of Sherlock’s behaviour being regular. It was ingrained behaviour, something probably from childhood, and I had come up with an explanation for it. But could it be possible? I had suspected before, but was it really possible that Sherlock had said he was a sociopath in place of him saying he was on the Autistic Spectrum? Could he really...

“Doctor Watson, we will be arriving shortly.” The driver snapped me from my thoughts.

“Oh, right, thanks.” I didn't even realise the car had been driving for over an hour, I had been so lost in thought.

Soon enough, the car pulled up outside Mycroft’s huge mansion, and usually the courtyard was empty. Today, Mycroft and Doctor Hardwick were stood at the door, apparently waiting for me.

“Ah John, glad you could make it,” _as if I was going to be anywhere else right now Mycroft_ , “We need to discuss something with you, before you have your visit with Sherlock today.”

“What’s happened?” I sighed, really hoping that nothing _too_ bad had happened. _Please tell me Sherlock has had another violent outburst, or gone into another catatonic state, or Loki is being taken away._

“Sherlock’s therapy session today brought up some concerning issues.” Doctor Hardwick started... she didn't _look_ scared, more very sympathetic, and quite worried.

“Oh God.” I was not looking forward to hearing this, not with the way things were going.

“It has come to light that Sherlock has not been touched since he moved into this house.” Mycroft explained first.

“At least he has not been touched kindly in that time, he seems to be under the impression that if he touches another person, they will get hurt, and so is keeping himself away for their perceived safety. I tried to explain that that was not true, and his violent turns are brought on by nightmares and situations where his body has to give a fight or flight response, but it isn’t getting through to him.” Doctor Hardwick continued.

He hadn’t... Sherlock hadn’t been touched? “Not even in passing? Like, being brushed past?” I asked, surely he’d had that at least.

“Not from the camera footage I have. The only times Sherlock has had a physical interaction with someone, it has been to restrain him in some form, or because he is attacking another person. Other than that, he has not been touched in approximately thirteen weeks.” Mycroft shook his head, oh _God._ What did that even feel like? What did it feel like to be left like that, to not have a single person touch him?

How hadn’t _I_ touched him in all that time? Even before his nightmare, how hadn’t I touched him? I just... I felt like I always touched him, as I handed him things, brushing against him as I walked past, I squeezed his shoulder... I did, didn't I? It was what I had done, was I not doing that? Why did I stop? Oh God why did I stop and let him go for so long without a single kind touch?

“It is not your fault alone John, it is all of ours for indulging Sherlock’s fears of touch for too long. We have been too complacent in this area, so we need to shake this fear before it becomes a huge problem.” Mycroft answered, was he ever going to look anything other than stoic?! He’d just let his own little brother go _thirteen weeks_ without a single positive physical interaction with someone! He still looked so calm though, how could he be so damn calm?!

“Then we need to go right in there and show him some love then!” I attempted to push through, but Doctor Hardwick stopped me.

“Not yet John, we have to be careful with this. We don’t want to spook Sherlock by suddenly invading his personal space. Instead we need to be delicate about it, which is where you come into this. I want you to try and find a way to get close to Sherlock, and see if he lets you. Now last night he cut his hair, which was a drastic decision on his part,” _knew there was something wrong,_ “so maybe you can work that into conversation, it shouldn’t be too difficult.” She advised, eyes boring into mine like she was pleading me not to screw this up.

“I would advise telegraphing your movements very obviously though, so Sherlock has some time to realise what you’re about to do. He hasn’t worked well with surprises in the past.” Mycroft followed on, “He’s not exactly in the best of moods either, so I would be cautious for today at the least.”

“Throw me to the wolves why don’t you.” I sighed, because why should Mycroft risk himself when he could send in me, the soldier, to put himself in the potential line of fire? Typical Mycroft Holmes avoiding his brother when he didn't know how to deal with him.

“I only suggest you because Sherlock trusts you, and wouldn’t be immediately on his guard if you touch him. He will most probably still be suspicious, but he is more likely to allow your touch than he is mine.” Mycroft replied, swinging his umbrella between his fingers again.

“Sure and I’m the Queen of England.” I rolled my eyes, Doctor Hardwick opened her mouth to say something more, “But I’ll do the best I can. I can’t stand back and know he’s been touch starved for this long, so I’ll give it a go.” I had to give it my best shot, and if I got hurt in the process, well... I’d deal with that if it came to it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments/kudos.   
> Quick question, apart from why Sherlock jumped/the guilt let over from killing people/Sherlock's asperger's, do you think there's anything else he and John need to discuss? My brain has turned to mush thanks to uni, and if there is anything else, please do let me know and I'll see what I can do, I'd hate to leave anything unresolved at the end of this!


	159. Chapter 159

158 Sherlock's POV

John was late, he always arrived between four and half past four in the afternoon, it was now ten to five. He was late, and I didn't like it, where was he?!

_He’s not coming anymore, he’s left you._ No, there was no sign of that yesterday, John was coming back. He always came back; there was no reason for him to not come back. But where was he? He wasn't here; he was _always_ here by now!

There wasn't any traffic, Mycroft would have had me informed, he promised to inform me if there was any delay. So there wasn't a delay, and John wasn't here, where could he be? _At home, avoiding you._ But I hadn’t done anything to warrant him not coming! _You nearly hurt your own Mother, of course there’s reason for him not to return!_ But John didn't know that, I hadn’t told him. _Like Mycroft hasn’t told him, Mycroft can’t keep his mouth shut when it comes to you and your wrong doings._

I wanted John, he had to be here, he was always here. He didn't stay away, he was always here, he was always here!

“Hey, sorry for the delay, I got lost; this place has far too many identical corridors.” John appeared in the door way, _he’s lying._ **Was outside longer than usual, also tense, very tense. Glancing at me, specifically at my hands. Jacket slightly askew, someone grabbed him back, small hands, probably female, and recently... _Hardwick._** What the hell was she doing talking to him?

“You cut your hair, when did you do that?” If she had asked John to talk to me about a bloody hair cut too, I was going to go insane. _You already are insane, that’s why you’re here._

“Last night... It needed doing; the length was getting in the way of violin playing.” I answered, refusing to let my fingers start twiddling with a shorter curl.

“Ah, looks good... More like you, if you know what I mean.” John stepped forward, I couldn’t step back to keep the distance, my back already pressed to the wall.

“If you say so.” I pulled my dressing gown tighter around myself, started to feel the distance between us closing in. What was John doing?! He couldn’t get closer, what did he think he was doing by getting closer like this?

“John, what are you doing?” I pressed myself further into the wall, looking around for an escape route.

“Coming to take a closer look at your hair, I can hardly see from half way across the room.” John stepped closer again, slow and deliberate.

_He was talking to Mycroft and Hardwick about the no touching thing! He’s going to get too close; you’re going to hurt him!_

“John I would not advise you coming any closer...” I warned him, what did he think he was doing?! Was he _trying_ to get himself killed?! I was bloody dangerous, I’d nearly killed him before, why was he trying to get closer now?!

“Sherlock, you’re fine, you’re not going to suddenly lash out just because I’m a little close to you, alright?” John stopped coming closer, “But if you insist, I won’t actually touch you right now.” Oh thank God for that.

He was still too close though, far, far too close. Only standing three feet away, completely in the danger zone.

“Thank you.” I managed to relax minutely. _Be on guard though, he could jump in at any second with a touch._

“You really do not want someone to get near you, do you?” John sighed, pity in his eyes.

“I’m not having this conversation, I had it this morning, I don’t want it repeated.” I did not want the only time I got to spend with someone whose company I enjoyed tainted with the same bloody topic from therapy. I didn't want to be touched, could we just leave it at that for God’s sake? _No, apparently keeping everybody else safe needs to be talked about and they all need to put themselves in danger. I swear it’s just to make you worse._

I moved out of his way and collapsed into my armchair, at least there I couldn’t be sat next to. _But you can be brushed past; nothing is stopping someone from standing **very** close to you. Look at Loki; he just curls up against your leg with ease. _He was a dog, he was allowed.

“Is Loki the only thing you’re letting near you right now?” John asked, taking his seat across from me.

“He’s a dog, and his job is to stay near me so he’s allowed.” I grumbled, “How about a game of chess? It’s been a while since we had a match.” I changed the subject.

“Alright, just go easy on me this time.” John rolled his eyes, apparently letting me have this subject change.

We managed a few rounds of chess without anything coming up about the lack of physical contact issue. It was... nice, to let my guard down a bit. Not by much though, I could see John trying to work out a way to touch me somehow. I avoided each incident though; even the brush of fingers was avoided. I didn't understand why it was such a big thing at the moment, so what I hadn’t touched someone in weeks? It wasn't that bad, I went years between things like hugs before I moved into 221b, nobody cared then. What was the huge issue now?

The issue didn't drop for days, it seemed like every time John arrived, he tried to get closer than usual. I caught him standing approximately 50% closer than usual, and when he handed me things, he tried to get our fingers to brush. There was even one time he tried to nudge me as he joked while we dished up our dinner.

Hardwick also didn't give me a break with the topic either. I couldn’t catch a break anywhere! Everyone was just _obsessed_ with the touching thing; they were either talking to me about it, or trying to get close enough to touch me, or _something_ along those lines. It was driving me insane! I didn't understand why we had to talk so much about it, I didn't care for physical touch, and even if I did, I _couldn’t_ get close to someone. They’d get hurt, and then it would spiral from there. It wasn't possible for me to get close to someone, I had to stay away for their safety, did nobody understand that?!

“Yoo hoo, Sherlock, are you in here dear?” A voice I hadn’t heard in a while asked.

I whirled round, panic blossoming when I saw the person at the door.

“Mrs Hudson.”                                                                     

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I appear to have updated yesterday instead of today by accident. I blame tiredness completely on this, yesterday left me so frazzled I literally forgot what the day was! I'm updating again out of habit, and because Friday may not get an update either, tomorrow I'm running here there and everywhere (including seeing the Hamlet cinema broadcast) so I'm going to be knackered on Friday. There probably will be an update, but hey, it pays to be cautious!


	160. Chapter 160

159 Sherlock's POV

“No need to look so shell shocked Sherlock! I was going to visit eventually, and I thought it best to bring you some of my new biscuits myself, instead of making John ferry them back and forth!” Mrs Hudson smiled, what was she doing here?! What the hell did she think she was doing?!

And who let her in?! Had Mycroft let her in?! Surely he couldn’t have! He knew the dangers, why was Mrs Hudson here?! She couldn’t look after herself, if I snapped; she’d get hurt, _or worse - killed._ I couldn’t kill her, not Mrs Hudson, oh God what was she doing here?!

“Well come on, don’t just stand there! Come over here and give me a hug, I’m not standing here for my health you know!” Mrs Hudson continued, was she _serious_ right now?!

“Who... Who let you in?” I whispered, _well that was very insensitive. She’s come all this way to get killed and instead you’re rude to her._ But it all must have been part of a plan of some sort; someone had to have let her in! I had to know!

“Nobody, I walked through the front door like a regular person. Got a bit lost mind you, your brother lives in a rabbit warren, I could never live in a place like this, far too many corridors to get confused over, but I made it in the end! So are you going to stop looking like a deer caught in headlights and come over here or not?” Mrs Hudson gave me a stern look that reminded me of a look Mummy used to give me when I was being insolent.

“It’s not... That’s not a good idea right now.” I pressed myself further into the wall, hands trapped between my back and the wallpaper. Loki gave Mrs Hudson a very suspicious look, like he was unsure of what to think of her. _Protect you or her, that is the question. You are supposedly his master, but she’s a harmless old lady, hard one to decide for a dog._

“Why ever wouldn’t it be?” Mrs Hudson asked, she knew, he _definitely_ knew. No way did she not know what was going on around here, with me and... Me and... _destructive_ moments.

“It’s just... it’s just not.” I looked away, unable to actually answer that question. _Change the subject, change the subject!_ “Have you heard that I have obtained a dog? His name is Loki; I’m... training him while I stay here.” I pointed lamely to the dog, not wanting to admit the real reason why he was here.

“Oh is that your dog, I barely noticed him! But I’ve heard so much about him from John, what is he, a Golden Retriever?” Mrs Hudson smiled down at the dog, who looked up at me, I nodded to him to tell him she was okay.

“Yes, he’s a very quick learner too.” _Picked out all your tells within minutes._

“He looks like a smart one, can I pet him? I love dogs you see, haven’t had one since Florida though.” Mrs Hudson held her hand out; Loki went over after I nodded to him again, allowing his fur to be ruffled.

“Shame you couldn’t have kept her.” I hesitantly kept on the conversation, feeling unease wind itself through my mind. Why was Mrs Hudson here? And why hadn’t I been asked if I wanted to see her? Well, I _had_ wanted to see her; I just wasn't _ready_ to, if I ever would be. She was in danger to be anywhere near me, she wasn't like John, who could fight back when he needed to. I could snap her like a twig before anybody even noticed something was wrong.

Though it was a clear attempt to get rid of this so called ‘phobia’ of touch, as if sending _Mrs Hudson_ in would placate me enough to let her close. Yes she looked unbelievably innocent and delicate, but I didn't want to even think of what my mind could twist her into. She wasn't safe here, and whoever thought she would be was an idiot.

“Yes, such a shame my husband was using her as an attack dog on his victims. That girl was good as gold with me, around him though, completely different person.” Mrs Hudson made me wonder if she was trying to parallel me and her dog. I hoped not, because I couldn’t be a different person for her. I wished I could, more than _anything_ I wished I could be harmless for her, so we could meet without danger, but it wasn't possible. It wasn't a switch I could turn on and off, there wasn't even a conscious decision between calm and attack, it just _happened_ without my say so. _It’s almost a literal kill switch._

“Yes, and that was the least of his crimes.” I sighed, preparing myself to tell her to leave. She had to go right now, before anything happened. But I didn't want to disappoint her, or waste her time, or for her to leave, not really. I had missed her greatly recently, especially her kindly mothering, but she couldn’t stay, not right now. Maybe not ever. I wished so badly that she could, but she _couldn’t._ I didn't even feel like I could really justify putting John at risk by being near me, let alone _Mrs Hudson._

“How about if we take him for a walk in the gardens? I saw some very large fields around the back of the house, and the fresh air would do you some good, you look like you haven’t stepped outside in years.” Mrs Hudson cut me off before I could even open my mouth.

“I... I haven’t really... going outside...” I didn't know what to say, we couldn’t really go for a walk. Mrs Hudson had to _leave,_ but at the same time, she looked so hopeful that I would take her out... _appropriate choice of words there._

“Oh go on Sherlock, show me round your stuffy brother’s garden, John has been getting all the information, I think I deserve to see a bit of it too.” Mrs Hudson pleaded, giving me big, pleading eyes.

“Your... Your hip...” It was the only excuse I could get out right now. I wasn't even sure if I was allowed outside the house! It certainly wasn't a good idea to go out there with Mrs Hudson, what did she think she was doing even asking?!

“It’s fine dear, the exercise will do it some good.” Mrs Hudson insisted, I hesitated, unsure if I could say no to her. I wanted her company so much, but there was so much danger involved...

“It’s not really a good idea, I can’t... I might...” I started to protest, but got cut off.

“Go on Sherlock, for me. I trust you.” She wasn't lying... Mrs Hudson _trusted me,_ me, of all people, she trusted _me._

_She is just asking for this to go wrong and for you to kill her. She really is. This is going to end horribly wrong and she’s going to die if you take her outside._ But I missed her so much, and the outside air, and she trusted me... _she hasn’t seen what you can do, what you have done. And if anybody had bothered to inform her, she would not trust you to do anything._

“O-Okay... Only a quick walk though.” I gave in, the need to talk to her again too much. _You have now effectively killed Mrs Hudson; her clock is now ticking, how many minutes do you think she has left?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments/kudos!  
> As a side note, I saw Hamlet in the cinema last night and really, really enjoyed it (first time ever for a Shakespeare play - usually it goes right over my head) I'd highly recommend going if you get the chance! I'm itching to go again!


	161. Chapter 161

160 Sherlock's POV

I lead Mrs Hudson back through the winding corridors of Mycroft’s house, shoving my hands deep inside my pockets in a lame attempt to stop any harm coming to my land lady. _Not your land lady anymore._ I still counted her as such, and I loved her dearly, I would _not_ hurt her. _That explains why you’re currently taking her for a walk then does it? Why you haven’t sent her away yet?_ I wanted to see her, _so badly,_ and a quick walk would be fine. If I kept my distance, my hands in my pockets, and Loki by my side, things would be fine. It would all be fine. _Just keep believing that, then watch it go horribly wrong._

Getting to the front door, I realised I literally hadn’t left safety of the house since I’d gotten here. I hadn’t stepped outside once... I didn't know if I could do this...

“Oh Sherlock, it’s okay. We don’t have to go outside if you don’t want.” Mrs Hudson gave me a pitying look, her hand reaching out for my arm.

“No, it’s fine, it’s fine.” I swerved away from her hand, stepping outside and into the real world for the first time in months.

The wind was gentle today, swaying the trees and making my coat flap around my body. It was cloudy, and really quite cold, but, I had to admit I quite liked it. I hadn’t felt the wind move my curls around, or felt the typical British cold weather in a while. It reminded me of London, of walking somewhere with John, be it around crime scenes or to the nearest takeaway. It was... it was nice, to be outside again, despite the danger the entire situation was presenting itself to be.

“Oh it’s cold out here! Are you going to be okay in your coat, it looks a bit thin.” Mrs Hudson worried, hand again reaching for my arm.

“I’ll be fine Mrs Hudson,” I dodged her hand again, “I’ve lasted many a winter in this exact outfit, it won’t be any different today. Now we should get going, the grounds aren’t going to come to us.” I set off to the right at random, calculating the route to take. On the path we were on, we could see the miles of fields, along with a shaded wooded area. To be honest, there wasn't much to look at currently; all the greenery was lost as it was winter. And Mycroft hadn’t picked this house for the scenery surrounding it, put it that way.

We walked in quiet for a little while, enjoying each other’s presence, like we had sometimes done in Baker Street, when there wasn't a case on and nor experiments to do. Though usually then there had been a TV to break the silence... and Mrs Hudson had some gossip or other about Mrs Turner or her ‘married ones’ or something. _Maybe she’s not talking because she’s scared; having realising that she has just walked off with a psychopath by herself._ We weren’t alone, there were guards watching all around, they were just well hidden. But if you knew where to look, they were obviously there.

“How, How have you been Mrs Hudson?” I eventually broke the quiet, glancing down to check Loki was keeping up. He was on my right side, padding along happily, staying close though, just in case.

“Same old, same old dear. Puttering around Baker Street, baking as you well know. I swear I’m taking a trip down the shops every other day, I’ll soon be putting Speedies out of business!” Mrs Hudson laughed, starting to tell me all about the things going on at Baker Street. Apparently the ‘married ones’ next door were moving out to a bigger place, as they wanted to have a baby and the flat they were in was too small for that. Mrs Turner didn't know whether to be delighted or not, as it meant the couple were getting what they wanted most, but also that they were moving out, and so she lost her bragging rights.

And in all that time, I couldn’t properly concentrate; I was too busy keeping a distance between the two of us, making sure that there was a comfortable amount of space there. No chance of touching, no chance of me hurting her. I was so sure that the second she touched me, I was going to do something horrible to her and cause some real damage. Mrs Hudson was frail, even though she acted like she wasn't, just one hit could be enough to kill her...

“Oh and I need a new microwave, mine’s having a funny five minutes and not working properly. I actually sent John out today to get a new one for me; he knows more about these machines than I do.” Mrs Hudson continued on.

“Sounds... interesting.” I commented. _Look at everything you’re missing by being here. You’re getting out of the loop, if nobody else visits, it’s going to be like you never even knew Lestrade, or Molly, or anybody else._

“Why did you come today?” Damn it I hadn’t meant to ask that! Why did I blurt that out suddenly?! I shouldn’t have blurted that out! _It’s been twenty minutes and you’re already being rude. Way to make Mrs Hudson feel welcome. Though, I guess it’s better than trying to strangle her or something._

“I came to see you of course! You’ve only had John as a visitor for weeks and weeks, I thought you could use a change of face.” Mrs Hudson answered, apparently not bothered by my rudeness. _Well she is used to your crap by now._

“Oh.” I wanted to dig further, see why she was really here. She had just suddenly _turned up_ with no warning, and after all this touch business, I had a feeling she was here as part of that, somehow.

“Can’t an old girl like me come visit a friend every once in a while? It is the Christmas season after all.” Mrs Hudson started limping a little; her hip was playing her up again. She would need to sit down soon; unfortunately, the nearest bench was another twenty minute walk away.

“That it is... Do you need to sit down, you’re limping.” _Excellent observation, and stating the obvious as well. Wow this place has dulled your mind, or was it the time on the run that did it?_

“I’ll be fine dear, if I don’t exercise it, I’ll only stiffen up and cause myself a lot more trouble in the future.” Mrs Hudson waved me off, soldiering on for a few more minutes, before she stopped.

I stopped with her, afraid of what to do now; generally when her hip really hurt she had her evening herbal soother and went to bed. But we couldn’t do that here, there was no bed, and certainly no herbal soothers, she didn't carry them with her, they stayed in her flat at all times.

“Is there anything... what do we do now?” I didn't know, it’s not like she had a cane to help her walk either!

“Give me your arm and help me balance better and we’ll get back inside. That’ll help ease it off a bit.” Mrs Hudson held out her hand again... _IT’S A TRAP._

“That... That isn’t a good idea.” Really not a good idea, in fact, it was a spectacularly _bad_ idea. There couldn’t be any touching! What had I said about touching?! It was wrong and bad and it wouldn’t end well!

“It’s only a little balancing, it’ll be fine Sherlock. I can’t get back to the house otherwise, so please, help me a minute.” Mrs Hudson pleaded, eyes filled with pain. But I _couldn’t,_ it wasn't... why did this have to happen?! I knew that this would be a bad idea! _Either you force her to walk back without your help, hence hurting her, or you touch her and potentially kill her! It’s a catch 22! You can’t win this!_

“But... But, I can’t.” I was so scared, what if it went wrong? What if I hurt _Mrs Hudson?_ She was the last one left who I _hadn’t_ hurt, I couldn’t risk her too!

“Yes, you can, and you will have to. It’ll only be a short trip, and Loki is here too, so it’ll be okay. Just let me lean on you for a little bit.” Mrs Hudson insisted, I glanced between her and Loki. She looked at me pleadingly, Loki nudged at my leg like he was encouraging me.

But could I touch her? Could I risk it? _NO._ But if I didn't... oh God I was going to have to do it. I was going to have to hold onto her...

“You better be on guard.” I warned my dog, slowly holding out a hand, letting Mrs Hudson grab hold of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments/kudos! You all really cheer me up while I'm ill!


	162. Chapter 162

161 John's POV

_Three days before_                                                                                      

“What are we going to do exactly? Sherlock won’t _let_ me touch him, won’t let me anywhere near him! And I can’t exactly sneak up on him or trick him into touching me! He’s always alert for this kind of stuff!” I ran a hand through my hair in frustration. Why couldn’t getting close to Sherlock and touching him be easy? Why did everything have to be so _hard_ with him?

“I know John, and I would take this into my own hands but Sherlock trusts me as far as he can throw me. You seem to be our best shot at getting him to break this touch aversion.” Mycroft sighed down the phone, we had been planning and counter-planning for _days,_ and hadn’t gotten any closer to Sherlock. He was like a ninja or something, avoiding all touches at all costs, he didn't let anybody near.

I understood _why_ he was doing it, he was scared to hurt anybody again by getting close, but I what I didn't get was why he wasn't listening when we explained that he was okay to touch us. We must have explained that he had only ever gotten violent when he was stressed or waking from a nightmare twenty times so far, and he still didn't listen. Mycroft had even used some long winded explanation using scientific terms in the hope that he paid attention, but it still did nothing! Sherlock was not budging with this, and so we were going to have to get creative to get him anywhere near us.

“You could bring someone else in dear, who will bring his guard down.” Mrs Hudson offered, pouring us both some tea.

“But who would that be exactly? Lestrade is _really_ busy with work, and seeing him again after what happened last time would only scare Sherlock, so he wouldn’t get anywhere near him. Molly is basically the same, and she couldn’t defend herself if he does get too stressed. I’m basically the only one here who he trusts, is available, and can defend themselves if necessary.” I’d already done it once.

“Well I could go if-” Mrs Hudson started saying.

“No! No way! Absolutely no way in hell are you going right now!” I stopped her before she could even finish that thought. The idea of Mrs Hudson going to Sherlock, trying to get close to him... that was a recipe for disaster! Who knew what Sherlock might do if he got too scared, or what he might do if he felt cornered! He’d already pushed over his own mother, what could he possibly do to frail Mrs Hudson?!

“And why not? He’s my friend too; I would like to help him!” Mrs Hudson gave me a steely glare, it reminded me of my own mother when I’d pissed her off.

“Because it’s not safe for you, not right now. He’s... He’s not well, and you could get hurt if things don’t go well. None of us want to see you hurt when it can be avoided.” I explained as best I could, she didn't know _everything_ about what was happening with Sherlock, and I really did not want to break her heart by explaining it all to her.

“I’ll have you know that I can look after myself, Sherlock doesn’t pose a threat to me, no matter how unwell he is.” Mrs Hudson continued, oh God, how to let her down gently?

“Put me on the phone John, I’ll do the explaining.” Mycroft spoke up, I handed the phone over to Mrs Hudson, letting her talk to the elder Holmes brother.

After a few minutes, Mrs Hudson’s angry look softened to one of sympathy and deep concern.

“Of course Mycroft, I understand dear. You’re trying to keep everybody safe.” She started, “But listen to me young man, I _will_ be seeing my boy sometime soon, I don’t care what’s going on. John can’t be the only one around who can see Sherlock, so I will be round for a visit soon, and I don’t expect to be turned away either.” Mrs Hudson’s tone held no room for argument, though I wondered briefly if Mycroft would fight back, he usually did.

“Good, I will phone ahead to let you know when I’m coming, goodbye Mycroft.” Mrs Hudson handed the phone back to me.

“Mrs Hudson you are a wonder.” I kissed her cheek briefly, going back to my conversation, going round and round in circles with the genius on the other end of the line for another two hours.

\--

Several more days of useless plotting went by, until I came home from my shift at the surgery, knocking at walking into Mrs Hudson’s flat to pick up her latest batch of biscuits for Sherlock.

“Mrs Hudson, where’s the biscuits?” I called out, not finding the box on its usual perch on the table. On the days where I brought baked things, the box was always on the table, without fail, now it wasn't even in the kitchen.

I got no answer to my shout, so I looked round Mrs Hudson’s flat, not finding her. I headed upstairs to mine and Sherlock’s (because it was still Sherlock’s flat, no matter what happened, 221b was _his_ ) to see if she was upstairs cleaning and hadn’t heard me.

Not there either, both flats were empty, and the lock was still on the front door to 221c. Where the _hell_ was she? It wasn't one of her usual social nights at Mrs Turner’s flat, and she was always in when I came in to have a quick chat, she didn't leave around the time I got home... Oh no. She had not gone to Mycroft’s had she? How would she even...? The car, the car that drove me to Mycroft’s house wasn't here, she must have gone instead! _Shit_ what was she thinking?!

I raced out the door, calling Mycroft as I went.

“Mycroft we have a problem.” I found another blacked out car parked on the street.

“I know, you best get down here.” Mycroft answered. _Fuck._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY BACK TO THE FUTURE DAY! I am forever indebted to that film for giving me my favourite band, who helped me discover fan fic and therefore writing!


	163. Chapter 163

162 Sherlock’s POV

My hand touched Mrs Hudson’s, letting her shuffle closer to me, her hand moving to grip my arm. And I didn't feel violent. Mrs Hudson was holding onto my arm, _leaning on me,_ and I didn't feel violent in the least. I was just... I was close to her, another human being, and it felt... oh it felt _good._ Like somehow I’d become warmer inside, melting away some tension from my stiff limbs. It felt like I wasn't alone.

I couldn’t properly describe the feeling I was overwhelmed with right now. I was just stood here, letting another human being hold onto me, and I wasn't attacking them, or even preparing to. I was on the defensive, but it was more the defence of Mrs Hudson than my own well being. But currently, I was holding onto someone, and it wasn't in a violent move, it was to _help_ instead. There was... how could I even describe how that felt? How could I even begin to describe this whole thing? I couldn’t, I simply couldn’t. All I could do was look at Mrs Hudson’s hand on my arm in wonder, and think if this would be the same if we weren’t covered in coats and gloves. _It wouldn’t be. Mrs Hudson would be **dead** by now if you weren’t outside. _

“Everything okay dear?” Mrs Hudson asked gently, her spare hand gently resting on my cheek. _Get her hand off your cheek now! Before it’s too late!_

“Y-Yes... Yes, everything is just fine.” I felt myself smile, “But come on, we should get back so you can sit down.” I hurried us along; I couldn’t push my luck too far. We had to get back, and soon, before my instincts kicked in.

We shuffled as fast as possible back into Mycroft’s mansion, and I’d just helped Mrs Hudson sit down in a chair when the door banged open.

“Mrs Hudson! Sherlock?” John paused in the doorway, eyes training in on Mrs Hudson’s hands in my own.

“John!” I yanked my hands from Mrs Hudson’s, “I didn't realise you were coming today.” I hid them behind my back, _that’s it, play innocent. So John doesn’t think the worst of you._

“I was, I... Mrs Hudson what are you doing here? You didn't tell me you were coming.” John floundered a minute, _yep he doesn’t trust you one inch._

“Because you wouldn’t have left me alone for five minutes if I did! I wanted to spend some time with Sherlock, just the two of us, so I came without informing you to get it.” Mrs Hudson clearly lied; _she didn't tell anybody so she wasn't stopped. If she had told people where she was going everybody would have stopped her, because she’s in danger being with you._

“I would,” John cut himself off, “You worried us, alright? Tell us next time, instead of letting me worry when I came in to find the entire house empty.”

“Oh it’s not like I had been kidnapped or something boys! You make it sound like I was in grave danger!” Mrs Hudson laughed, she didn't even realise how much danger she was in when she was around me, did she? How didn't she realise? Or was she trying to play it all off like she didn't care? _Well she is around John a lot, she could hear a lot of things, get involved in plans too._ Did everything have to be a ‘plan’ to fix me now?!

“You weren’t exactly safe Mrs Hudson; I wouldn’t recommend doing it again.” I warned her, Loki, who had been watching quietly, gently pressed his head into my hip.

“I was just as safe as always, I trust you Sherlock, and it’s not like I was posing that much of a threat to you. Either way it proved that you can hold onto someone without having a bad turn.” Mrs Hudson tried to touch my arm again, I moved out of her way. _Yeah move out the way, this changes nothing. You were distracted and forced into the situation; unexpected touches still could set you off._

“It proved nothing. One positive result does not outweigh many negative ones.” Loki moved with me as I took another step away.

“You managed to touch Mrs Hudson without hurting her?” John’s eyes widened. _He really thinks you couldn’t do it, thinks that you can’t even help Mrs Hudson without hurting her._

“Yes, from half way across the gardens, all the way back to here. Must have been at least a twenty minute walk.” Mrs Hudson answered, pulling herself up to stand.

“Wow, congrat-” John started to say.

“Congratulations are not in order, it was a one off, and something I’m not going to repeat again. I was distracted by the pain Mrs Hudson’s hip was giving her and the fact that we had no other choice. Though currently it looks like it was all a ruse to get me to come near her in the first place, so now it seems like this was all a stupid plan to start with.” I could see no signs of pain from Mrs Hudson’s posture at all, _they were lying to you._

“Sherlock, I was only trying to help.” Mrs Hudson apologised. _Everyone around here has a death wish._

“I know, but don’t. I don’t need help with this, it’s... it’s safer this way.” I stepped towards the stairs. I could feel myself getting stressed; I had to get out of here, before something happened. _You’ll hurt them both, get out now._

“Sherlock don’t be silly, you can’t isolate yourself away forever.” Mrs Hudson held her hand out.

“Yes I can! It’s for everyone’s own good!” I got to the stairs, starting to back up them, far away from their hands.

“No it’s not, can’t you let us help you with this? You didn't hurt Mrs Hudson just then, you’re not going to hurt someone every time you get close.” John insisted.

“I will! You don’t understand, this isn’t up for discussion!” I got followed up the stairs another step.

“Sherlock please, you can’t continue like this.” Mrs Hudson pleaded, her hand still held out to me.

“No! You don’t understand! I _can’t_ risk it, risk _you,_ don’t you get that? I get close, and then something sets me off, and you end up hurt, or worse, dead! I’m not going to risk you for my sake; I’m fine without it all!” I made it to the top of the stairs, _run, run away from this right now before something else happens!_

I turned and ran before they could say another thing, not able to stand hearing their ideas anymore, I didn't want to hear it, I couldn’t risk anybody I loved! I had to stay away, no matter what, I _had_ to stay away!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments and kudos, this has gotten 103 views in two days, that's MENTAL!


	164. Chapter 164

163 Sherlock's POV

“I see that John and Mrs Hudson have left.” Mycroft entered my room without even knocking.

“You shouldn’t have let them in.” I curled further in a ball, leaning against the wall.

“I admit that it was not a good idea, but your land lady is rather insistent when she wants to be.” Mycroft sighed; I couldn’t tell if he was impressed or annoyed. _Annoyed, always annoyed._

“You should have stopped her.” I glared at him briefly, “We don’t know what could have happened, and I’d really like for Mrs Hudson to stay alive.”

“We all would, but we thought it good to give it a try. You’re refusing to get close to anybody, and “the effects of isolation” is not an experiment I wish to run on you.” Mycroft sat on a chair.

“I’m still talking to people aren’t I? It’s not like I’m completely alone.” I stroked Loki’s fur, getting a duller hit of the feeling I had had when Mrs Hudson had put her hand on my arm. It had felt so _good,_ to have someone touch me with trust, with _affection._ But no, I couldn’t have it. I wasn't allowed to have it, that was a ridiculous notion to even crave it. I’d lasted _years_ without physical affection from anyone, and I had been perfectly fine, I didn't understand what the difference was now.

_You had felt it for a while, knew what it was like. Now you’re removed from that affection again, so you know what you’re missing._

“But you’re not getting affection, which is something that every human being needs.” Hardwick stepped into the room... when the _hell_ did she get here?!

“We’ve had our therapy session for the day.” I had not been sitting here for more than an hour, Hardwick shouldn’t have been here. It was past midday.

“I know, but I wanted to come back for a chat, considering what happened today.” Hardwick took another seat.

“I don’t want to talk about it, or fix it either. It can’t be fixed.” I wanted to be left alone, or at least not be forced into this conversation. This wasn't up for discussion, I _could not_ be allowed to touch other human beings, I snapped unexpectedly and hurt them. _Proving to everyone that you’re a psychopath._

“It can Sherlock, honestly, I’ve seen other people in your exact position manage to break through this fear. It took hard work, but it did work, and they managed to reconnect with others again, we can do the same for you.” Hardwick insisted, sounding like she was pitying me again.

“No I can’t! Damn it I can’t! I have proven time and time again that I can’t do it, and it’s not going to work on me! I _can’t_ get close! I panic and my brain goes into survival mode and I attack and people get hurt,” I felt myself tear up, “And I don’t want that! I don’t want to hurt anybody ever again, I can’t do it again.” I buried my head in my knees, wanting to tear my hair out at this entire thing.

“What about today then? You managed quite well with Mrs Hudson. The two of you were in contact for ten minutes and nothing happened. What would you call that?” Hardwick asked.

“An anomaly. One positive result does not make up and over take the negative results. Out of the six last times someone has touched me, or just gotten too close, five of them ended in them getting shoved, strangled or hit in some way or other. Only one ended happily, and that was because I was concerned for Mrs Hudson’s pain level and had no other choice. If it had been a normal situation, I would have attacked her, and considering her age, possibly killed her.” I answered, they couldn’t blind me with their science again, I had my own science, with results that applied to me. They couldn’t argue with me over it.

“Hmmm, do you think if you were distracted, or somehow calmed, you would be able to touch someone without the violent reaction you’re afraid of?” Hardwick asked, Mycroft started typing on his phone.  _Bastard got bored of watching you suffer. Shows just how much you are sitting here pathetically._

“It’s not something I’d like to try.” I mumbled, scratching my hands over Loki’s stomach.

“I think I may have a temporary solution, Sherlock, have you ever heard of a sensory room?” Hardwick asked... She was going _there?_

“I... I’ve used one before.” I answered, “But it won’t help here.” Using one had helped when I was a _child,_ but now... it couldn’t work on this.

“I’d like to try it out anyway, because it sounds like your violent urges are triggered because of immense stress. So, with the help of a sensory room, I think I could help you to calm down without the use of medication.” A light sparked in Hardwick’s eye.

“How? I’m hardly going to be distracted by a string of lights or something enough to calm down.” That’s what it used to do when I was a child, watching a string of lights or whatever else had helped me to centre my thoughts and calm down after Redbeard. But I’d been a child, not a full grown adult like I was now...

“There are many different things that can help in a sensory room, and I think it could really help you if we set you one up and tested a few things out, see what helps you calm down. Would you like to give it a go?” Hardwick asked, _don’t say yes, you’re not a bloody child anymore. It won’t work and will only waste everyone’s time._

“It may help a number of things; maybe even quieten your thoughts enough to sleep without nightmares.” Hardwick continued as I hesitated.

“Yes, I’d like to try.” This wouldn’t help me to touch others. But if I could sleep without nightmares, I’d be so much happier...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry I didn't update yesterday, I was out all day with my best friend (who I haven't seen for about a month) at the cinema, and when I got home I was knackered so I completely forgot! Sorry about that!  
> Also, a HUGE thank you to Southern Anon for giving me this idea, you really wrote me out of a rut with it and I will forever be grateful for it!


	165. Chapter 165

164 Sherlock's POV                                        

“There are many different things we can put in a sensory room which could be useful to you, things like fibre optic lights and chairs you can rock in, as some people like the motion it brings. I know from Christmas that you really like to play violin when stressed, so would you like me to add a musical element to your room? Obviously you can play violin in there if you wish, but I can add some speakers too so you can listen to music you find calming.” Hardwick asked, having fully explained how a sensory room worked.

It was basically a room with objects in that helped promote calming thoughts in a user’s brain, as well as some stimulation for the senses. Sensory rooms were generally used to calm thoughts and focus a person, and had proven to be very useful with adults with similar problems to me in the past.

“I’d like a musical element yes, but no lights that make that annoying buzzing sound.” I _hated_ the buzzing lights, like the ones in hospitals. The noise felt like it was drilling through my head and it made me want to rip my skin off. _You’re so special needs it’s painful._

“I can provide a list of things that Sherlock is sensitive to.” Mycroft spoke up, having put his phone down by this point.

“Of course, I’ll take that into account so there’s nothing around which could cause problems.” Hardwick scribbled down a note, “Is there any type of lighting you prefer? We won’t be using light bulbs like the ones in here, as they’re too stimulating and bright.” _Bit condescending that tone, wasn't it?_

I didn't know the answer to half her questions to be honest, I hadn’t used a sensory room since I was a child, and most of it I had deleted as it was associated with the bad time after Redbeard. And I had changed since then, I didn't know what exactly would be good for me now. I just knew that I found music calming, especially if I was playing it. There wasn't much else I knew of, I didn't have calming things for myself normally. If I was getting stressed or over stimulated, I’d lie on the sofa in Baker Street, or in my bed, blocking out the light and everything else.

But, Hardwick seemed to have a few ideas, and went off to consult with a specialist in the subject, before coming back, talking things through with me. I agreed to most of it, taking out a few ideas, but eventually came to a nice agreement I was comfortable with. Then, the construction started.

The sensory room was to be placed in the hallway between my bedroom and my living room, so it was easy enough to get to whenever I needed it. It was actually replacing the gym Mycroft had had set up, all the equipment being moved upstairs if I ever decided I needed it. _Best not go there, who knows what issues will come out if you start hitting a punch bag repeatedly._ I wasn't going near it; I didn't feel like encouraging bad behaviours more than I had to.

The noise during construction was kept to a minimum too, though I still avoided the area whenever loud drilling was going on, hating the sound with a burning passion. Another noise that made my skin crawl. I shuddered thinking about it. Luckily, the unpleasant sounds didn't last too long, and within the week, my new sensory room was constructed to the specifications we had all agreed on.

The room was painted a light blue, with strings of lights usually found on a Christmas tree around the walls, creating a dull light which allowed me to see, but it didn't hurt too much to look at. The curtains could be opened if more light was ever needed, though I doubted it would. My weighted blanket was folded neatly on top of a mattress topped with pillows, next to my violin stand, the violin itself propped up against it. Speakers were hidden in the four corners of the room, able to play the special playlist of music I had chosen at any volume I wished.

Just walking in calmed me down, it felt safe to be inside, even when the only thing being used was the lighting. It was perfect, not too chaotic, or filled with too many things, nothing too ridiculous that would just annoy me, not even the sound of a buzzing light bulb or machine. Perfect quiet, unless I turned on the speakers. Perfect lighting, unless I opened the curtains. Perfect decoration, so nothing hurt my eyes. It was all perfect; I could see myself being very happy inside this room. It felt unbelievably safe, like half my thoughts couldn’t affect me, and the outside world didn't matter so much anymore.

I couldn’t think of anything better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's shorter than usual, but I felt that where I ended this chapter was a good cut off point.   
> Also I haven't used a sensory room at all, and honestly only just found out about them thanks to Southern Anon, so if there is anything wrong, it's completely my fault. I did my best with research, and got lots of stuff off Southern Anon (thank you again for saving my bacon with the amount of research you gave me!) so I was as accurate as I could be! If it's not totally right though... call it artistic licence ;)


	166. Chapter 166

165 Mycroft’s POV

I stood at the door of Sherlock’s sensory room, watching him take in his surroundings in what I could only describe as wonder mixed with relief. In some ways, I was surprised I hadn’t thought of this before, considering how well Sherlock had responded as a teenager. Then again, he hadn’t been having violent outbursts or flashbacks at the time, had only shut himself off from the world after losing his dog. Still though, I wished I had thought of this sooner, it could have saved us a lot of time.

“What do you think then? Good enough, or is there anything that needs changing?” Doctor Hardwick asked, smiling at my brother.

“No, no, it’s good as it is. I, I like it just the way it is now.” Sherlock turned to look back at us, before hesitating a second.

“Shall we leave you to explore for a while?” I suggested, knowing that that was what he wanted.

“If it’s not going to mess with our session.” Sherlock ran his hands through Loki’s fur again.

“I came an hour early for that exact reason Sherlock, go ahead and explore, I’ll collect you when it’s time for our session.” Doctor Hardwick backed out; I did too, thinking that this would be something Sherlock would want to explore privately.

“How much time should Sherlock be spending in his sensory room, and how regularly?” I asked, hating asking, but I was admittedly not an expert in this field. I generally knew enough to deal with Sherlock’s Aspergers on a day to day basis, the rest was a mystery, even after all the research I had done over the years.

“He should stay in there for as long as he needs or wants. And he should go whenever he feels like it, which I hope will be when he gets stressed, or has a nightmare. The music and the controlled stimulation should prove incredibly useful when Sherlock needs to calm himself, and the room itself can be a safe haven for him now. What I am hoping for with this room is that it becomes a space which Sherlock feels safe in, and that will encourage him to be more daring.” Doctor Hardwick answered, walking with me towards my office.

“Are you hopeful that this treatment will break Sherlock’s fear of touch?” That was the reason why the idea was brought up in the first place, and I hoped that the rooms calming effects would relate back to my brother and help him to relax around people enough that he could touch them.

“That is the plan yes. I’m hoping that the safety the room creates, along with the effects of his music, maybe some violin playing too, will go towards helping Sherlock to remain calm in a situation where he has physical contact with someone. It _should_ help, but at the same time, Sherlock does like throwing curveballs at us at random intervals.” Doctor Hardwick smiled ruefully.

“And don’t we all know it.” I sighed, remembering just how many curveballs my brother had thrown over the years. Some so wildly out of character and unexpected I hadn’t even thought to account for them in any situation. Then again, that was my brother all over, always trying to be unpredictable and sometimes managing to surprise me.

“That we do. Anyway, the sensory room should help him with his nightmare issues. I can also use it to help him cope with flashbacks, and possibly a few other problems. Loki is a useful tool, but he doesn’t seem to be helping as much as I’d originally hoped for, so combining the two should be more effective.” Doctor Hardwick answered, reaching my office and continuing to tell me her plans for Sherlock’s therapy. By the time she had finished, it was time for Sherlock’s therapy session, and so she left to carry out the session with him, leaving me to get some work done and wait for John to arrive, so I could fill him in on the details of our new therapy method.

\--                                                                                                

I had just managed to finish writing up another peace treaty when John came in. He had made it a habit to come and find me before he found Sherlock, if I wasn't already waiting for him at the front door. Our quick meetings served as a catch up of everything going on with Sherlock, if there was any topic to avoid, and if there was anything I needed John to bring up as subtly as he could. He was almost a go between me and my brother, as Sherlock trusted him more than he trusted me, and so John was more likely to get something out of him than I was.

“A sensory room? Isn’t that usually just for kids?” John questioned as I explained to him.

“No, it’s for people of all ages, with a number of different problems. This one has been especially built for Sherlock’s needs and will serve to calm him down when it is needed, along with another tool in his coping strategies.” I answered, John was a doctor, he should have known this! Then again, his psychology classes had not been his strong point, which could go a long way to explain a few things...

“Right, so can I go in there at all or is it just a special place for him and Loki to enjoy?” John asked, at least he was open to this idea and not dismissing it.

“No, you can enter, but it is preferable that you ask permission first. This is supposed to be a safe space for Sherlock, which he is in control of. So it would be better for you to ask permission before you enter, also possibly knock on the door before you speak, in case he is in the middle of something.” I replied, hoping I wouldn’t have to spell out _everything_ to the man. He did have a few brain cells to rub together, I would prefer it if he used them.

“I can do that... I don’t suppose that this will be coming home with us when Sherlock eventually comes home, will it? Cause if it is such a huge help to him, won’t he need it after he moves back home too?” John asked, suddenly looking a bit worried.

“I have already thought of this, and yes it will go back to Baker Street with you. There is very minimal equipment in there, and it will all fit seamlessly into Sherlock’s bedroom. If he wishes it to be in a separate room, I will discuss with Mrs Hudson about moving it to 221c, as that is the other available space in your building.” I answered; did John think I hadn’t already thought of this? I had thought of _all_ of this and more as of late! I wasn't stupid; I wasn't going to build a sensory room for my brother, only to take it away again when he left my house! The same with his dog, now that he had both, he wouldn’t be deprived of both for as long as he wanted them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments/kudos!   
> Just to let you know, I'm going to be focusing on this as my NaNoWriMo project this year, so with any luck I'll have it completely written by the end of November!


	167. Chapter 167

166 Sherlock's POV

I laid back on the mattress, listening to the music softly floating through the speakers and stroking Loki’s fur. The curtains were closed and the light strings were on, just so I could see my surroundings. All I was doing was laying there, weighted blanket over my legs, hands in Loki’s fur, listening to music in a dim room. And I felt _so_ calm, like I couldn’t be harmed here, nothing could go wrong in here. I felt _safe,_ almost like I could go to sleep in here, in the middle of the day, and I could nearly believe I wouldn’t have nightmares if I did.

Where had this room been for half my life? Had this felt so good as a teenager? I didn't remember it feeling this good. _Well if that room had been like this, instead of filled with stupid toys and bubble columns, it may have helped more._ That was true; here I didn't have anything like that. Just lights and music, exactly what I needed, and wanted...

Until there was a knock at the door. I scrambled upright, calm feeling knocked out of me a bit. Who the hell was knocking on my door?! Wait, what time was it? Could that be John... what was he doing here so early?

“Sherlock? You in there? Mind if I come in?” It was John, he was early. Hardwick had only just left our therapy session ten minutes ago.

“Yeah, come in.” I shoved the blanket off, suddenly realising just how this would look to an outsider. What kind of genius had a special sensory room like this? I didn't even want to think of what he thought of this.

“Sorry, did I disturb you then? Mycroft said you were in here and I figured I’d let you know I was here. I can come back if you want.” John stood in the doorway, not actually coming in.

“No, no, it’s fine. I was just... I was just thinking. Nothing too important.” I waved it off, “How come you’re here so early?”

“Early? It’s three in the afternoon Sherlock, I’m on time.” John’s eyes widened a bit.

“I...” How could it be that late?! I had not just spent an hour in here! No way had I just spent an hour in here! Hardwick left ten minutes ago! _You’re not losing track of time now because of a bloody room are you?_

“Must have gotten lost in your head, you always used to do that.” John smiled, I hadn’t gotten lost in my thoughts for years, would I have done so now?

“I haven’t done that in a while.” I whispered, I couldn’t remember the last time I had gotten lost inside my head for so long I lost track of time completely.

“Yeah, I’d estimate at about three years.” John smiled again, sitting down next to me on the bed, though leaving a nice sized gap there. _Not completely fixed by a room are you?_

I didn't expect to be, but I’d just gotten lost inside my head, that _never_ happened anymore! I got lost in thought _processes,_ arguing with myself and getting stuck in flashbacks, but I didn't get _lost_ for _hours_ anymore. This room was already doing its job by the looks of things...

“Probably.” I felt myself smiling too, unsure of what else to say or do other than that.

“So... What’s this music playing? Something you wrote?” John asked, waving his hand to indicate the music playing.

“I wish, no it’s Clair De Lune by Debussy. There’s a playlist of my favourite composers and their best relaxing pieces. If anything I wrote gets played in here, it’ll be played by me with that violin.” I answered, as the music clicked to Le Onde by Ludovico Einaudi.

“Ah, sorry. I barely know anything from anything else I’m afraid. I could probably point out Mozart and that’s about it.” John laughed a bit, giving Loki a scratch behind the ears, as he always did when he came in.

“Schooling failed you.” I felt like I could joke a bit at the moment. It was the room, its effects were astounding. _Don’t let your guard down you idiot! Anything could happen!_

“Only on classic music. But it’s good cause you can now teach me yourself.” John answered.

“Would you like me to?” I asked, wondering if he meant it, or if he was just saying it in the moment.

“Yeah, wouldn’t mind it. At the very least it could make me seem more sophisticated on dates.” John made me laugh a bit, when was the last time he’d done _that_ with me? Really, when was the last time we had laughed? Or the last time I had felt this free? Or safe? Or anything? How could one room do this to me with just simple lighting and music? _How?_

_It’s a trap! They’re drugging you! There’s a sedative or something!_ My brain function was fine, I was thinking clearly. And John was fine too, and I’d already thoroughly inspected the floor, walls and ceiling, there was nothing there. It was all safe. Completely safe. I felt _safe_ here and I knew I was actually safe. The room itself was affecting me, making me better somehow. I didn't even think it possible, but this room, it was helping me be myself again.

So I let it, let the feeling of the room take over; let it harmlessly change my brain chemistry into something that helped me to function. I sat on the mattress with John and Loki, telling them all about the differences in the composers we were listening to, the things to listen out for when you wanted to tell them apart. Anything I could think of to do with composers and classical music. It was the longest and best conversation I had had with John in _years;_ I could almost think we were in Baker Street again. Mrs Hudson was just downstairs, Lestrade could text at any minute with a new crime scene, or Molly would with news of a new corpse pieces to pick up. Like our lives were intact, like there were before.

And most importantly, I felt _normal._ In this room, in this moment, I felt _normal._ And that felt so good, words weren’t even available to describe it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments/kudos, I'm really glad the sensory room is accurate, I was extremely paranoid about it ever since I started writing it!


	168. Chapter 168

167 John's POV                                                                     

The difference in Sherlock was incredible to see, he was so _calm_ in this room, talking almost completely freely with me. There was still caution in his movements, making sure he was keeping himself separate from me, but he was _talking_ so much, practically running our conversations like he used to. His speaking speed had definitely improved, outside of the room; it was slower, with more pauses in it. In here, he was talking nearly a mile a minute, not thinking, just talking, telling me everything he knew about composers.

Was this all really because of a slightly dimmer room and some music? All this improvement was because of _this_ simple room? If it was, then my God, we were _seriously_ taking this back to Baker Street when Sherlock was allowed home!

“How do you know so much about composers? I thought you deleted everything irrelevant to The Work.” I asked, leaning against the wall.

“I keep some other things in my brain, things that are important to me. The violin is important to me, so I need to know about classical music, hence all the knowledge of it.” Sherlock shrugged, his hands had stilled their movements through Loki’s fur, now he had his hand simply resting on the dogs head. I couldn’t tell what that meant exactly, but I had a feeling it was quite good, considering the fact that I was still having a nice conversation.

“Right, so do you have like, a wing in the Mind Palace or something, filled with all musical knowledge?” I wanted to see how much I could ask, see if Sherlock would answer. He seemed pretty happy for me to ask him, so I guessed it was alright.

“Not a wing just for music. I have a wing for all things for The Work, then another for my life in general where music and everybody we know goes, then another for science.” Sherlock explained, using his hands to shape out each section.

“Ah, and yet you can still never remember Lestrade’s name.” I smiled; making him blush slightly, then wince.

“I, er... He’s always Lestrade to me, any other name sounds _wrong._ Like calling Mrs Hudson by her first name.” Sherlock’s hands found Loki again, who licked his palm.

“Fair enough I guess... But you have a spare wing for science? I would have thought that that would have been in with all The Work stuff.” I changed the subject, hopefully to distract him from whatever made him wince. He hadn’t flinched or anything in here much, I’d like to keep that streak going.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s separate. There’s a big room just for forensics, which is closest to The Work wing. But the rest is protocols, chemical elements, experiment ideas, completed scientific reports.” Sherlock explained.

“240 types of tobacco ash?” I teased gently with a smile.

“243.” Sherlock corrected, as he always did. He hadn’t done that in a while either, he didn't correct me often anymore, instead let me be wrong in whatever thing we were discussing. He rarely bothered to correct me... How well was this room working for him? I thought all it did was relax him, Jesus, was all Sherlock needed to be himself was to _relax?_ No, it was definitely more complex than that, I was going to have to do some research into this for myself later on, figure out exactly what was happening right now.

So that was exactly what I did when I got home, I was immediately on the internet, searching for answers. Apparently sensory rooms worked to desensitise people, which in turn helped them to relax. The dimmed lights were to reduce the amount of light assaulting Sherlock’s eyes, and the music was specially picked to work with his brain to relax himself. It helped change his brain waves to a calmer state, so he wasn't on high alert and could feel safe again.

That was why he was more open with me, he wasn't getting a million bits of information a second, and his brain waves were changing to something he could function with. He wasn't on high alert at all times, he felt safe inside that room, so he could let himself be calm for a while. Of course his problems weren’t solved, he couldn’t spend the rest of his life stuck inside that room, but he was being given a space that was completely his that he could use as a safety zone. Somewhere he could hide inside and be himself, let his therapy help him stay calm.

Maybe it would allow him to sleep properly without nightmares, maybe open up to Doctor Hardwick more in therapy. If he could open up, or at least _sleep,_ a lot of his issues would be resolved. Or at least be on the way to being resolved. What I wouldn’t give to have our Sherlock back, to see the great man deduce a crime scene like every clue was written on the floor, to go chasing off after him at all hours of the day through London, the coat swishing around his body. Violin concerts at 3am, arguing over who used up the last of the milk and didn't replace it, arguing at daytime TV and deducing the end of Bond films.

To have that life back, to have our life given back to us, Sherlock returned to all his glory. Imagine it, to have him back. And this room may have been the key we needed all along to relax him enough to get him to confront his problems instead of avoiding them. How had we not thought of it before?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey just to let you know that if I take a while to get round to replying to your comments, I'm not ignoring you, I'm busy writing! I'm doing NaNoWriMo currently and the universe is taking every opportunity possible to distract me so I'm taking every spare moment I have to get some words down! So if I take a while to reply, I'm not ignoring anybody, I'm desperately trying to write this fic!


	169. Chapter 169

168 Sherlock's POV

“I see that you’ve had some success in your new sensory room.” Hardwick opened our therapy session, looking pleased with herself. _Of course she is, she proved herself cleverer than you._

“Yeah, it worked quite well.” I nodded, slightly regretting leaving it last night. I’d stayed inside until diner had been served, and had gone to my room to sleep. My dreams had been a lot calmer last night because of the time spent inside that room; I was still in awe that a darker room with music could have such a great affect on me.

I’d spent hours listening to music in the past, yet I swore it had never had such an intense affect before, then again, I hadn’t been as keyed up as I was now at the time. That could be the reason why I didn't notice in the first place...

“I would say so, how long was your conversation with John yesterday? I hear that the two of you had an incredibly long chat about composers, where you did most of the talking.” Hardwick grinned at me; _apparently talking like a human being is a huge achievement now. Wow expectations are low for you._

“It was just a conversation.” I shrugged, not seeing the point in being praised for it. I’d spoken to someone, so what? It wasn't like I’d done something _amazing._

“But it’s still a big improvement for you; you haven’t had a conversation like that in a while. Mostly, you’ve given short answers and not looked anybody in the eye, or even let them that close to you while you talk. Yesterday, you sat close to John, looked at him properly and _lead_ the conversation, even taught him something. That is something to be incredibly proud of, and something to be celebrated.” Hardwick insisted, I let her, figuring it easier to let her praise me and move on than anything else.

“Now with stuff like sensory rooms, they can help with a lot of things, but they aren’t the solution to your problems,” _here we go, back to the awkward, uncomfortable bit of therapy,_ “But we can use your new room as a tool in your recovery if you wish. Recently we’ve spoken a lot about touch and allowing people to get close to you, and I think we could use your sensory room to create a safe place for you, where you can comfortably be in physical contact with someone without worrying that you’re going to hurt them.” Hardwick was suggesting _what_ now?! I thought we were moving past this ridiculous thought! I wanted to forget about touching others, it wasn't important, it would never be important!

_Are they trying to get you to kill someone?! This is a shit idea, you are going to hurt someone, special sensory room or not!_ Exactly! We couldn’t risk it! Why was everyone so damn determined to make me do this when I had proven it wasn't a good idea?!

“No, I don’t want to do this anymore! I don’t need touch and I’ve had enough of you droning on about it! We are not using my room as some calm down tool to see if I can manage to not kill someone!” I wasn't going to risk anybody like that, nor was I going to ruin the only safe place I had access to right now! I didn't care how damn good this room was at calming me down; I did not want to even dare to try to reach out to someone!

_Mrs Hudson risked enough the other day, trying again can only end in someone getting hurt. And you’ve done so well recently in not killing anybody._

“Okay, okay, Sherlock breathe. I was only making a suggestion because your room has a calming effect on you. I understand that it’s your safe place and that you don’t like to risk your friends, but it is so important that you get over this phobia before it imbeds itself further into your psyche. It’s not advised to continue through life with no physical human interaction, it can damage your mind far more than you realise.” Hardwick lectured, I rolled my eyes.

“Loki is enough for me okay? I don’t need anything else.” I didn't need a person to help me, I had Loki. If I had Loki, I had physical touch when I stroked his fur, I didn't need anybody else for that. _You only have Loki because he’s trained to be around you._

“Sherlock, you do. And if you don’t get over this phobia, how do you expect to go back to crime solving, or even walking around London? People are going to bump into you all the time, and your land lady is hardly going to not hug you on occasion. What if you have to shake a client’s hand? Or go undercover as someone else and it requires you to touch another person? You can’t expect to keep yourself away forever, it won’t just affect your health, it’ll affect your work, and you don’t want it to affect your work, do you?” _Fuck,_ why did she have to have a point in that?!

If I ever got out of here and back to normal, I’d have to wander amongst the public, have to deal with being bumped into on trains and in the streets, handshakes would be required. Lots of touches and people, things I couldn’t avoid. I’d have to deal with it... and, I guessed, better to deal with it now in a safe place than unexpectedly later on. _If you ever get out._

“Fine. But on my terms, alright?” This may be forced on me, but we were doing this on _my_ terms, under _my_ rules and at _my_ pace. It was the only way I could see to completely avoid disaster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments/kudos!


	170. Chapter 170

169 Sherlock's POV

“Okay, I’ll let you lead if it makes you feel better about the situation. Obviously I’m going to have explain what to do, but I’ll let you go at your own pace if that is what you wish. Would you like to start outlining a plan now?” Hardwick agreed, looking far too eager. She should know by now that this was not going to end well, this was going to be an uphill struggle and was probably going to end with someone getting injured in the process. Being eager was not a good idea, it was only setting this up for disappointment, _she should really know this after so many failed plans already._

“Fine, what exactly do we have to do?” I figured it was better to pull the plaster off now, instead of leaving it and worrying.

Hardwick explained that basically, the plan was to first of all get me used to touch while inside my therapy room. It was a calming space, and coupled with my meds and Loki, I _should_ have been able to allow a small touch. Then we would build it up to something like a hug (not that I had many of them on a daily basis normally), and then it would be a case of working out how to utilize the room’s effects when not inside it. Basically trying to create a portable version inside my head so I could escape whenever the world got too much. _Like you can get inside your Mind Palace right now, it’s a ‘no go’ zone currently._

“We will work out how to get back inside your Mind Palace too, so you can build this room and I can help you lock up any wandering memories.” Hardwick smiled when I mentioned it.

“How do you know they’re wandering?” I asked, I hadn’t told anybody that my memories of my time away were appearing randomly in places they really should not have been.

“You locked yourself out of the entire palace, not just a wing. That, and experience with previous patients tells me that the memories can pop up anywhere, even when you’re thinking of the happiest times of your life. So clearly you haven’t locked them anywhere, or you have tried and it hasn’t worked. They’re wandering around your palace and causing havoc whenever you run into them.” Hardwick explained with a shrug. _That was... that was good. She knows more than she lets on, which means you’re soon going to have to deal with these memories, as in **remembering** everything. Isn’t that going to be fun?_

“A fair assessment.” I admitted, running my hand down the entirety of Loki’s spine and back up again.

“Oh is that a compliment? I never thought I’d see the day!” Hardwick laughed, _mocking you._

“Just stating that you were correct.” I answered.

“If you say so. Now when do you want to start our new plan up? We could start today when John arrives, or we can wait a while so you can mentally prepare yourself. What do you feel like?” Hardwick asked, back to business it seemed.

That was a question, when did I really want to start? Never, if I had my way. But at the same time, I had to for the sake of my future in detective work if I ever got out of this. If I started today, it would rip the plaster off quick, instead of giving me time to work myself up. Working myself up made things worse, as proven from past experience. But I didn't feel _ready_ to even try today, or even this week! I didn't want to do it, but I had to, while knowing that the outcome would be bad. The outcome, despite our measures, was going to turn out bad, or at least would at some point! I didn't want the bad outcome; I didn't want to risk John’s life. I couldn’t really change our ‘test subject’ to a different person either.

I wanted to start with someone I really trusted, and someone who could take care of themselves. John fit both of those categories, he’d fought me off before and knew what to expect, so he was a good choice for this. But at the same time it meant endangering him _again,_ all in the name of my therapy. Mrs Hudson and Molly weren’t even options this time and Lestrade I didn't want to add more injuries to the ones I’d already caused.

Which left John, who I had injured several times already. It didn't feel right to do it; I hated doing it to him. I had no choice though; the only choice I had was when I could do this.

“Phone John. We’ll do it as soon as he wants to give this a try.” I couldn’t decide, I wanted John to decide. _Well he is the one who is putting his life on the line just so you can learn how to be close to another human being again._

This was going to go horribly wrong, I could feel it. Why was I doing this? Why did I have to do this? _To be able to work again._ Why did The Work have to even deal with touch?! Couldn’t I just stay in a bubble, I wanted to stay in a bubble, it was easier!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the short chapter, it just ended where it did, extending the chapter didn't really feel right!


	171. Chapter 171

170 John's POV                                                      

My phone rang in between patients, with an actual phone call. That could _not_ be good, Sherlock hadn’t contacted me outside of our visiting hours in _months,_ Mrs Hudson didn't phone me at all, Greg would have texted or come round, and Molly texted in absolute emergencies. Which left Mycroft, who phoned whenever there was something I needed to be warned from.

With a sigh, I looked at the caller ID - Blocked Number - _definitely Mycroft._ That meant something bad was happening and I needed to brace myself, great. Better answer the call and find out just what was happening now.

“Please tell me Sherlock hasn’t thrown another curveball.” I asked and sat back in the chair, waiting for Mycroft’s clinical explanation to start.

“Hello to you too John.” Doctor Hardwick answered... now that was something I wasn't expecting.

“Oh sorry, I thought it was Mycroft phoning with another request or warning for me about something. What’s up?” I apologised, Charlotte Hardwick wasn't really that bad. She was doing well with Sherlock and was always working hard with him; I’d never heard any news of her losing it with him or getting annoyed. Most other doctors in her position would have given up or at least forced Sherlock into some treatment or other no matter what he said, she at least tried to listen to him before going ahead with some idea or other.

“I was just talking to Sherlock in our therapy session, and we’ve agreed that we’re going to use his new sensory room to help him break his phobia of touch. Now I was wondering when you would be comfortable to come in and help out. Any time is good, it can be worked into your usual visiting session, but I think it would be good for Sherlock to start as soon as possible. He’s getting a bit worked up and nervous, and I’d rather we didn't leave him to work himself up for too long, considering his predisposition to violent acts when stressed.” Charlotte explained, well shit.

I hadn’t actually expected this to come so quick. I’d told her that I’d be willing to be guinea pig whenever Sherlock wanted to get over his phobia, but I didn't think it would happen so soon. Whatever she had said to him in therapy must have been bloody powerful and something Sherlock couldn’t ignore. Maybe she had brought case work into is somehow...

“Right, wow... that was a bit unexpected, I thought it would take longer if I’m honest.” I bit my lip, thinking over what to do.

“I know, I was a bit shocked myself, but hey, with Sherlock you have to jump on his more giving and open moods and run with them before he closes back up again.” Charlotte answered with a little laugh.

“That you do, Lord knows I used to pounce on them to get him to eat and sleep like a normal person,” I agreed, “Right, well I guess we can try this therapy thing today. To save him from working himself up too much.”

“Great, we can do that if you want. I’ve currently got him laid up in the sensory room to relax him, as he was already starting to worry. I’ll keep him there until you come along and then we can make a start, I’ll run through things properly when you get here. But for now, just know that I’m doing everything I can to make sure he’s as calm as possible for this. You won’t be in any danger, even if Sherlock has an adverse reaction, which I don’t think he will if I’m honest.” Charlotte explained, doing everything she could to reassure me.

“I understand, I think we have a good chance. We’ll do fine today, we did last time, and this time there’s sensory rooms and everything to help us along.” I agreed, “But I’ve really got to get back to my patients. They’re waiting and I’ll get shouted at if I don’t take someone soon.” I hung up, going back to my patients and resolutely _not_ thinking about what was doing to happen tonight when I got to Mycroft’s.

\--                                            

Arriving at Mycroft’s was just as normal; I met with him and Charlotte, discussing what we were going to do. Apparently, we were going to set this up like a usual meeting, sort of like our previous meeting in the sensory room. Talking and eating like always, but I should at some point try to touch Sherlock on the knee or the arm. We weren’t going to try his bare skin yet, starting at safer places with gentle and subtle touches that could happen at any point in any normal conversation.

Didn't seem _too_ hard when it was put like that. But that wasn't including Sherlock in the mix, who was no doubt working himself up into a terrible state and on the lookout for any touches. He was always on the lookout and defensive about getting close to him, he had to try and ignore that in favour of actually letting me touch him. It was going to be _hard_ for him to do so, and I did not envy his part in this one bit.

Yet I was still nervous for myself too, scared of what I was going to do. I had to be subtle, gentle, as non-threatening as possible. Hell, I’d brought Mrs Hudson’s peanut butter biscuits as a peace offering (and daily offering of food, but it was still a peace offering as in a way that said ‘I’m not threatening, don’t hurt me’) and was very careful in knocking on the door.

“Come in John.” Sherlock called a minute later, so I crept into the room as quiet as I could.

“Hey, how are you doing?” I asked, keeping my voice low too. Probably screwing this up majorly by basically wrapping Sherlock in cotton wall, but it was the only way I could think of to stop me looking threatening.

“As best as I can currently.” Sherlock answered, he was paler than usual, which was saying something. Most of the colour in his face was completely gone at this point, contrasting starkly against his blue dressing gown. Loki was nudging at his hand again, and Sherlock took the hint, rubbing his fingers through the dogs golden fur. His hands weren’t shaking or tapping, so I took that as a good sign.

“Good, that’s good... I brought more biscuits from Mrs Hudson, peanut butter this time.” I offered over the box, thinking it was a good starting point. Close but not a promised chance of us touching; possibly scrape of the fingers, nothing much at all.

“Oh, thanks... Did she run out of chocolate chips then?” Sherlock asked, hesitating, but eventually reaching out and taking the box, lifting the lid and peering inside.

“Yeah, she’s out of all chocolate chips and basically every other ingredient she could have put in there. But she did have the peanut butter and figured you wouldn’t mind not having the usual mix, in favour of a pile of your favourites.” I shrugged casually.

“Of course I don’t. These ones are the best.” Sherlock nibbled on the corner of one, the two of us falling into an awkward conversation, which slowly became a comfortable one.

Slowly, we relaxed next to each other, sitting just a tad bit closer than usual. It wasn't all that bad really, though all I could think was that at some point I had touch him. I actually had to reach out and put my hand on Sherlock’s knee in a natural part of the conversation and make it seem _normal_ and not like we hadn’t actually been in physical contact with each other in _months._ The last time we were, Sherlock had had his hands around my neck and was choking the life out of me. It didn't make this any easier.

But, eventually, there was a good place to reach out. We were talking about our old cases, remembering a frankly brilliant moment where Anderson tripped face first into mud in the middle of an argument. One minute he’d been storming across the crime scene, the next he was face first on the floor, smothering in mud and dirt, spitting it out of his mouth. He’d had had to go home in the police van _reeking_ and none of us had ever managed to forget that moment. It still made me giggle to think about it now.

And we were laughing talking about it, and we were relaxed. It was as good a time as any. So I leant forward with a giggle, and put my hand on Sherlock’s knee. Not pushing on him, not acting like I’d planned it (though he could probably tell) and leaving it there. All while trying to not act like I wasn't near terrified of what would happen next.

The ball was in Sherlock’s court, he could react or he could not notice. It was up to him to figure it out. And I for one was hoping with everything I had that he wasn't going to notice, or at least not react.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments/kudos, it means a lot and is really helping to encourage me through the slog that is NaNoWriMo! Just a quick reminder than if you don't have an account on here, you can tweet me @corruptedpov or leave a message on my tumblr - effulgentcorruptedpov


	172. Chapter 172

171 Sherlock's POV

There was a hand on my knee. We had been laughing and having a good time, now there was a hand on my knee. _John’s hand was on my knee._ He was actually touching me; his hand was on me, and... And it didn't feel bad. It didn't feel like I had to go onto the defensive, like I had to immediately shove him off and make sure he wasn't going to hurt me. It was just John, touching my knee in a friendly gesture.

And it felt _so good._ That warmth radiating across my knee, knowing that there was someone here with me in every sense of the word, I couldn’t... There weren’t words. It was almost like coming up for air after spending too long underwater, I still felt _safe._ This room’s affect on me, combined with feeling that hand on me, I felt so safe, and almost like a regular human being. All because he touched me, and I wasn't immediately wanting to choke the life out of him.

There was a small siren in my head shouting that I should be shoving him off and overpowering him before something bad happened, but I didn't do it. I didn't feel the need to, for the most part, I still felt safe, that this was _normal._ It was a normal thing, I was doing something normal, and for the second time it wasn't backfiring. I could ignore the siren in my head, ignore the feeling that I had to hit out and kill. I was _safe;_ I didn't have to do that here. Not anymore.

Our laughs died out, the two of us looking at each other in silence, the magnitude not lost on either of us. For the first time in three years we were in physical contact with each other, after having a nice conversation, and I wasn't feeling violent. I wasn't panicking, or wanting to run away. It had been _three years_ since this had last happened, three long, tiring years.

Then, the moment seemed to end, John’s hand leaving my knee and our eye contact broken. Though the sense of achievement remained, along with continued feeling of safety. _Congratulations, you’ve managed to act like a regular human being twice in a row. Every other person manages to do this multiple times a day without a special room to help them._ It was still a _huge_ thing for me, and I couldn’t help but feel a little shocked that I had managed it so easily. I was sure I was going to get scared and the whole attempt would get called off before it started, or just before I lashed out again. But I _hadn’t,_ I had been fine. I couldn’t believe it.

“So... you remember Lestrade’s face when you solved that so called impossible cold case? The one that involved the matchboxes?” John asked, apparently not going to talk about what just happened. _Why would he when what you just did was a normal thing for everyone else?_

“You mean the one with the empty boxes and just one with a glow worm inside?” I remembered that case well, it had been fascinating, and had proven to be a fun puzzle to solve. Lestrade’s shocked expression had been quite fun to see at the end too, he still couldn’t believe I’d solved it, as everybody else hadn’t had a clue, after trying to solve the case for two weeks.

“Yeah that one! His face was a picture, like you’d just given him definitive proof of who Jack The Ripper was.” John grinned, and so the conversation continued like nothing happened.

We continued to talk like nothing happened, laughing together for the first time in years again. John even touched me a few more times too, always on the knee, always making the movement obvious before he made it, always while we were laughing over something. It was almost like we were in Baker Street three and a half years ago, before The Reichenbach Fall plans solidified, before any of it. It was so freeing to have this, to have this bit of normalcy after spending so much time trying to grab it back in all the wrong ways.

This was what I had been chasing round, had wanted to get back. Me and John, talking and laughing, relaxing together like friends, my mind almost quiet. Thoughts still sparked off all over the place, and I could still feel echoes of the panic I had felt in the past, my muscles twitching in a fight or flight response. But it didn't go anywhere; I could ignore it in this room.

Here, in the dimmed lights, classical music pieces playing in the background, Loki resting next to me, I could be free. I could be near normal here, I could be _me,_ and John and I could be friends again. Almost everything I had wanted, all because of a simple room. How could this even be possible?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments/kudos! The case about the matchboxes was references in The Sign Of Three, and I saw somewhere that apparently there was an extra or a hidden clue somewhere in the episode which explained that the glow worm was in the matchbox, in case anybody was wondering where I got that from!


	173. Chapter 173

172 Mycroft's POV                                                                               

Sherlock was managing to let John touch him, he was actually _calm_ and letting him touch his knee without an issue. And while they touched, they were talking, and _laughing_ together. My little brother was letting himself be close to another human being and laughing... Sherlock hadn’t laughed like this in years, I couldn't remember the last time he laughed, let alone the last time I saw him fully relaxed with another human being.

“It looks like my sensory room is doing the trick.” Doctor Hardwick smiled to herself, watching the monitors next to me.

“It does. Though I don’t think it will solve all of Sherlock’s problems.” There was no way this room would solve all of Sherlock’s problems, it only affected him while he was inside, when he wasn't in the room he still wasn't what I deemed as his normal self.

“Of course not, but it’s going to provide him a safe space when he needs it, and a place that helps him open up to me in therapy, and to John it seems too. That’s going to make all the difference to him in the long run.” Doctor Hardwick reassured, noting some things down.

“That is clearly being proven.” I nodded, hearing my brother laugh again. It was such a rare occurrence to hear him laugh at all, to hear it so often in the space of an afternoon... Mummy would have been so pleased.

“I do think we have him on the right track now Mycroft, and have sorted out exactly what Sherlock needs to get better. We have admittedly had some false starts and bad turns, but I think we have the right formula now. Obviously, it’s not going to be all plain sailing from now on, I have no doubt that he’ll throw us a few more curveballs, but I think that we are on the right track with him at last.” Doctor Hardwick looked incredibly proud of herself, “That does mean you can stop looking so worried all the time you know. Sherlock’s finding his rhythm again, and he’s happy right now, that’s a good thing. So you don’t have to worry so much.”

“I don’t look worried, I’m not worried. I know that Sherlock is happy, I don’t need that pointed out.” I didn't like her trying to reassure me so much. I knew my brother was getting better, that was very clear to me, I was the most observant man in the country, there was no need for someone to tell me that my own brother was happy.

“Everyone needs to be told some things Mycroft, and this could very well be yours. You spend so much time worrying about what could go wrong, and planning how to micromanage it, you forget to appreciate the good things, like that laugh.” Doctor Hardwick pointed at the screen, Sherlock was still relaxed and smiling with John, “You are allowed to celebrate small stuff, as well as big stuff too. To you, this isn’t a fully functioning Sherlock who’s haring off around crime scenes, deducing everybody in sight. But this is a Sherlock who feels safe enough to let his best friend touch him for the first time in three years, a Sherlock who is allowing himself to relax and laugh like a normal person again. That is something to be celebrated and rejoiced in.”

“He just, he just didn't laugh that often before.” What else could I say? Her words were getting a bit too close to my actual feelings, something I never let anybody get close to. I was starting to see why Sherlock hated psychiatrists, this feeling was incredibly uncomfortable.

“Well having someone like Moriarty hanging over your head could cause that I guess... Hopefully you’ll hear a lot more laughs from your brother in the future.” Doctor Hardwick smiled again, turning back to the screen, where it looked like the conversation was winding down after four hours.

“I suppose I best be off, I’ve got another surgery shift if the morning.” John sighed; face full of regret, and just a trace of longing.

“Oh,” Sherlock seemed a little surprised by that, like he hadn’t expected things to go so quickly, or easily.

“Sorry mate, but I’ll be back again tomorrow, same time as always.” John smiled, squeezing Sherlock’s knee for the fifth time that evening. I was quite surprised by the frequency with which he was trying it; the man was practically fearless, which could prove useful in the future if it was needed...

He moved to stand, heading towards the door before pausing for a second.

“It’s... It’s good to hear you laugh again, and to talk like this. It’s been too long.” John shoved his hands in his pockets, talking about anything close to feelings still not his forte.

“Nearly three years.” Sherlock agreed, hugging one knee to his chest, the other patting down Loki’s fur.

“Jesus... Let’s make sure that we never go that long again.” John sounded like he was making a resolution. The man was stubborn, I trusted him to stick to that.

“Yeah.” Sherlock nodded again.                     

“Good,” John turned to go again, before pausing a second time, though this time not turning around, “I’m proud of you, for today... and all of it really. We got... We got really worried, it’s... it’s good to see you turning the corner.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments/kudos!


	174. Chapter 174

173 Sherlock's POV

John had never told me he was proud of me before. He’d never... there had never been a reason for it. Sure, he had told me my deductions were amazing and fantastic and brilliant but he had never said that he was _proud of me._ Just like Mycroft. I wasn't sure how to feel about it, or what to do with myself now either.

I’d just had a four hour conversation with John, where we had talked and laughed like friends, and I had let John touch my knee no less than five times. Five times he had put his hand on my knee and it had felt _so good,_ almost like I was surfacing from drowning, and I hadn’t hit him for it. I hadn’t hit him, or lashed out in any way. All I had done was continue talking, mentally noting that his hand was on me, ignoring the background panic. I couldn't even remember the last time I had been able to almost completely ignore panic like that, to do something I was scared of and _not_ attack first.

For so long, I had attacked first, without thinking of the situation I was in. It had been an almost simple thought, someone was touching me therefore they were trying to hurt me in some way, and therefore I had to attack them first. Cause and effect, which had worked out for so long. Now I had managed to stop myself from lashing out, meaning that we had had a _conversation_ like _friends._ John felt like my friend again, in this room, John felt like he was my friend again.

“Well done Sherlock, that was an amazing achievement!” Hardwick knocked on the door, large smile plastered on her face. And it didn't look fake, she actually felt happy for me...

“How are you feeling about touch now? Any better about the whole idea of it?” She continued, seating herself on my mattress, a few inches from where John had sat.

“A... It felt okay.” I whispered, not sure how else to put it.

“Well that’s good; it’s a vast improvement on before at the least. Would you like to continue with this touch therapy in the future?” Hardwick asked, I nodded. I couldn't help but feel _good_ when John touched me, like it was all normal, like we were friends and that we could get past this. So if he wanted to continue, I did too, I wanted to _so badly._

“I’m glad about that. Do you want to talk about it now, or shall we wait until tomorrow? I can imagine you’re a bit tired now that you’ve been through all that, so you can leave the discussion for tomorrow if you wish.” Hardwick continued, smile softening, but still stuck on her face.

“Tomorrow. I’m, I’m a bit tired.” I actually felt tired too, I didn't think I’d done enough to warrant this feeling, but apparently I had. It was either that, or this room was making me relaxed enough to sleep.

“Alright, I’ll leave you to it for now. I’m so proud of you Sherlock, that was a very brave thing to do, you’re making great headway.” Hardwick praised, getting up and leaving me and Loki to get ready for bed.

Change into pyjamas (t-shirt inside out, trousers right way round), clean teeth, let Loki go outside for a quick run around, curl up in bed with a book. I was starting to be able to concentrate for a little while on the pages, only for a few minutes, but still more than before. So I was taking the chance to read all the scientific journals Mycroft had supplied for me, catching up on anything I missed during my absence until I drifted off to sleep. _Oh yay, that means that the Mind Palace is opening its doors again. Have fun sorting out that mess._

My nightmares were still an almost nightly thing, but it felt like a... _softer_ version, if that made sense. They were still horrendous, waking me up shaking and shouting. But I recovered just that little bit quicker, and Loki had started to hand me the tablet with the video feeds when I woke too, which _really_ helped. I could confirm my friends were still alive within a minute of waking, it was vital to me, being able to physically see the people I cared about most in the world were still alive. I needed it, almost daily, and luckily Loki understood that.

“Good boy Loki, good boy.” I fed my dog a treat after I calmed down this time, not taking my eyes off screen, where John was still fast asleep. He looked peaceful, lying on his back; arms splayed across the pillows, breaths deep and even.

Loki licked my face until I petted his fur, taking comfort in him and the video feeds until I felt capable of getting up and starting the day, albeit a bit early. I had had always been an early riser, _more like a never-sleeper._ Better to start the day early, it got more things done, and kept nightmares away. _That damn room is supposed to be keeping nightmares away, it’s failing._ It wasn't failing, it was softening them a hell of a lot, and some days I managed near full nights without a single one, that was not failure. Anyway, I didn't see how a sensory room could completely stop nightmares unless I slept in it... I may try that out one day, see what happened.

Though I didn't want to get too dependent on it, I didn't want to be only ‘well’ inside one room. I wanted to be better in its entirety; I needed to learn to cope outside of my sensory room. Though how I did that I wasn't sure...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments/kudos!


	175. Chapter 175

174 Sherlock's POV

“You haven’t been in your sensory room today; did you feel like you didn't need it?” Hardwick asked in our next therapy session.

“Didn’t feel like it was needed. And I don’t want to get too dependent on it, you know? I... I just don’t want to rely on being in there to be able to function like a normal person.” I played with Loki’s collar; it was simple black leather, though the stitching was green on each edge, standing out starkly against his blonde fur.

“I can understand that, do you think you could grow to be dependent on it?” Hardwick looked concerned.

“Maybe, I don’t know. It’s not like I don’t have a history of getting addicted, and therefore dependent, on things that helped me escape reality.” I shrugged, _all those rehab trips could account for that._

“Would you like to talk about that today?” Hardwick asked, _God no._

“Don’t you have some sort of plan for today’s session?” I deflected, tracing the green stitches with a finger.

“I did have a plan yes, but I don’t have to stick to it if you have something more pressing on your mind. It’s your therapy; we can talk through anything you wish to talk through.” Hardwick answered, _we are not talking about the drug days ever again. They aren’t even relevant to this situation._

“I don’t want to talk about addiction; I don’t have a problem with that right now. I was just making a comparison to explain my point earlier.” I pulled my knees to my chest, Loki’s head working itself into the gap between my chest and thighs.

“Alright, if you’re sure about that... How did you feel about yesterday’s experiment then? Do you count it as a success? Or do you want to try more testing?” Hardwick changed the subject.

“It was... I think it needs more testing. Not much, but just to make sure it wasn't a fluke.” I answered, I had been thinking about it most of the morning. I had thought that yesterdays touching experiment had been successful, but I wanted to be _sure_ of it. I couldn't move onto something more difficult before I was absolutely sure that I really was okay with the slightest touch.

“Okay, we can do that if you wish. I just wanted to make sure.” Hardwick smiled reassuringly, and that was how I ended up running through several more conversations with John which were filled with gentle knee touches. He never seemed to mind when we gave it another try out, simply accepting it and continuing to talk to me while touching my knee.

I never hurt him, not once. Every time, there was a sense of panic in my head, but I could ignore it. There were warning bells in my head, telling me that I had to _run_ or fight back, but they quietened with every run through.

So after a week of daily knee touching with no incident, I felt like I could safely say that I was okay with having my knee touched. The fight-or-flight response ceased to be an issue for that type of touch. And so we amped it up a notch, holding onto my arm, something I _really_ did not like. So many bad memories of my arm being grabbed filled my mind every single time John held onto me, but I fought it hard, fought as hard as I could, forcing myself to talk about other things, to listen to my music, pay attention to Loki, depending on whether we were in the sensory room or not. Anything I could think of to stop this thought in my head, to make the urge to hit out and run _go away._ It was so hard, so damn hard, but I eventually managed that too.

Slowly, ever so slowly, we built up to going for ‘the big one’ otherwise known as _hugging._ Why the hell that was deemed so important I didn't know, the only person I hugged on a semi regular basic was Mrs Hudson. But everyone around here seemed to think that it was important that I learnt that _hugs were okay_ and not a dangerous situation. Which meant I got thrown into trying to hug John too.

Me and John had never hugged before. Ever. There had been arm squeezes, shoulder squeezes; one case of hand holding we were _not_ talking about, and that was about it. Hugging was not something we did. We hugged others, but never each other. It just... it had just never occurred in our friendship. _Because you’re too damn standoffish that nobody is coming close enough to do so._

John joked that he never hugged me because he’d get a paper cut from my skinny body; it did a terrible job of hiding his nerves in the situation. I told him that I was skinny but I wasn't _that_ bad.

“Sure you’re not; if Mrs Hudson saw you she would have a _fit_ because of it. She’d start cooking on top of all this baking. Now come on, get over here and hug me already.” John opened his arms for me.

I hesitated, figuring the best way to do this. **_Arms around the shoulders, John won’t reach above yours._** Right, right. So I just had to... step forward and wrap my arms around him...

Taking a deep breath, I did as I thought, placing my arms loosely around John’s shoulders, letting him rest his around my waist, leaving several inches of space between us. This... this was more awkward than anything. Small warnings were awakening in my head, but really this was more awkward. Maybe there was a definite reason as to why we didn't hug.

“Boys, you’re supposed to actually get close to each other. You’re standing so far apart you could almost fit another person between you! Squidge up a bit!” Hardwick rolled her eyes affectionately, looking at us both like we were hopeless.

We shuffled closer together, and the awkwardness dropped off a little. I started to feel a bit... well, like this was almost _nice._ It felt quite _safe_ if I was honest, like I was being held away from danger by someone I trusted. I felt... I felt like I was home, I didn't really want to leave the comfort of John’s arms. I felt myself leaning into it more, taking a minute or two to feel _good_ and, dare I say it, _cared for._ A warm feeling planted itself in my chest, and suddenly I didn't feel so alone and cut off anymore.

These touching experiments had left me feeling quite isolated from others at times, but this, _this_ was wonderful. If it always felt this good, I may be tempted to hug more...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments/kudos! :D


	176. Chapter 176

175 John's POV

Sherlock slowly relaxed and leant into my embrace, his head resting against mine, his curls tickling my ear as his arms tightened a fraction around me. He wasn't tense, or shaking like before, he was actually almost completely relaxed. If I was the one watching, I was sure that Sherlock looked about as relaxed as he was when he hugged Mrs Hudson, and for a second I couldn't quite believe it. Sherlock didn't _hug_ much as a rule, our land lady being the only exception, and after everything he had been through, all of his troubles with touch, he was as relaxed with me as he was usually with her.

This had to be some sort of miracle or something, at the very least a _huge_ step in the right direction. I felt so proud of him for a minute, risking it and leaning in closer myself to enjoy the moment. This wasn't just Sherlock leaning to accept peoples touch again, this was, for me at least, possibly the start of Sherlock returning to us. I’d seen small flashes of him this week, while we were in his sensory room, talking and laughing, but today we were outside of that room. We were doing something that felt almost _comfortable_ and Sherlock was relaxed against me, like some of his walls had come down.

I had missed seeing Sherlock relaxed and unguarded recently, he’d been so damn _scared_ and edgy ever since he’d come back. I’d seen him barely saying a word, curled up in bed and refusing to leave, screaming and crying out for me to _kill him_ because he thought he was evil. Right here, right now, my best friend was relaxed and felt safe enough to let us hold onto the other, after recently having several full conversations with me, conversations where he had _laughed._

My best friend was coming back to me, and I hadn’t even realised how much I missed him until that moment. I’d done my best to not think of ‘old’ Sherlock and compare him to the ‘new’ one, even back in 221b I tried not to think of how things had been before all this happened. Right now though, I allowed myself to _miss_ my best friend and be overjoyed to see flashes of him coming back, shining through, slowly digging his way out of the deep hole in his mind.

“Boys... You can let go at any time you want.” Charlotte Hardwick interrupted softly, standing a bit back from us.

I gave Sherlock one last squeeze before stepping out of his arms, grinning up at him. He looked slightly dazed at what just happened, making me laugh softly at him.

“And how was that for you?” I looked up at him, watching some clarity come back to his face.

“Good... Very good. I, I liked that.” Sherlock nodded, “How about you?” He fiddled with his dressing gown cuffs, twisting his fingers round the material.

“Very good on my end.” I agreed, shoving my hands in my pockets, unsure on what else to do with them. I wanted to reach out and touch him again, confirm that this man in front of me was my Sherlock, the one that was working his way out of his maze. But I resisted, in case I pushed him too far. Just because he’d gotten through a hug didn't mean he’d want to constantly want me touching him, Sherlock hadn’t been keen on people touching him before, let alone now.

“Great! I’m proud of you two; this has been a lot of hard work for the two of you recently, so I think you both deserve some time to do whatever you like without therapy getting in the way. I’ll leave you two to it.” Charlotte grinned before leaving us.

“So... That was pretty good going.” I wasn't exactly sure what even to talk about now.

“Thanks... It’s, it’s been hard.” Sherlock bit his lip.

“And it’s paid off nicely. Think you’d be able to take another visit from Mrs Hudson or someone else soon? I’m always getting badgered about how you’re doing.” I asked, wondering if maybe Sherlock would want other visitors now. He hadn’t seen anybody but me for so damn long, apart from one Mrs Hudson visit, and that had been filled mostly with him being stressed. I couldn't imagine he enjoyed that one too much...

“Maybe, I’m not sure at the moment. It’s a bit, well; it’s a bit difficult to tell. I wouldn’t mind seeing Mrs Hudson, Lestrade or Molly but... I’m a bit worried.” Sherlock didn't look at me as he said that. I interpreted that to mean that he was worried about how he would react to them, especially after his last interaction with Lestrade.

“Fair enough. But let me know, alright? They all want to see you as soon as you’re ready. Maybe not all at the same time, but you get what I mean.” I wondered how much Sherlock missed the others in our group. I think he did miss them, they were all his friends after all, but maybe he was willing to wait until he went home to see them. Sherlock was an antisocial person at the best of times, he had _hated_ our Christmas parties, and I guess it would be difficult for him to figure out what to do with them if they came here.

If he saw Lestrade, there’d be a huge elephant in the room in regards to the incident that landed him here in the first place. Molly he hadn’t seen in a frankly ridiculous long time. Mrs Hudson, well she would be a bit mothering. Though she had been alright last time...

It was all a bit of a conundrum that Sherlock was the only one who could figure out what he wanted to do. It was completely up to him, only he could make the decision about how he wanted to proceed. I just hoped he would actually continue to get better, and not take a step back. We needed him to get better, all of us did. I wanted Sherlock back, and all of us wanted him happy and with us in Baker Street. It wasn't right without him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments/kudos!


	177. Chapter 177

176 Sherlock's POV

I would be lying if I said I didn't want to see Lestrade, Molly and Mrs Hudson again, but I didn't know if I could. The last time I had seen Lestrade, I had had a complete breakdown and had left the entire police force thinking that I’d tortured people, and the time before I had attacked him. Molly I hadn’t seen for _months_ and she had seen my first touch related breakdown. Mrs Hudson... She’d get too close by mothering me. I could trust John to not go too far with me, but her? I wasn't sure.

It was probably for the best that they didn't come, even with all this therapy I couldn't guarantee their safety. Even if I could, it was would be so _awkward_ after our last meetings. I wasn't sure if I could explain away my actions, or get them to ever understand what was going on. _Even if you can, Lestrade can’t ignore what happened at that last crime scene, he’ll have to question you about what you did to others. And he can’t let a murderer roam free, no matter the circumstances._

The thought haunted me, what would happen to me if I ever saw Lestrade again? I would have to explain what happened, and that wouldn’t end well. He couldn't ignore that I had killed and maimed so many people, even though it was all in the name of good. _I_ couldn't ignore it either, the thought that I had caused so many deaths ran through my head so often. I could remember every single one in my mind, every shot, stab, punch, poisoning. Every. Single. One. I could get through letting John touch me, but it didn't change the fact that these hands were murderer’s hands.

“Sherlock, why don’t you want to see your other friends?” Hardwick asked during a session, even she had been talking to me about seeing them again recently. Did _nobody_ understand just why I couldn't? Did anybody actually remember what Lestrade’s job was? Couldn't they put what I’d done, our last interaction with each other, and Lestrade’s job together and figure out exactly _why_ meeting him at the least would constitute as a _very, very bad idea._

“You know why.” I glared at the woman, wishing she would _figure it out,_ and not make me say it.

“I can’t, tell me.” Hardwick damn well _knew,_ I could tell she could, she just wanted me to say it.

“You do. So stop trying to get me to talk about it, I don’t want to.” I curled my legs up to my chest; Loki licked my hand, so I stroked his fur.

“I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me Sherlock; you know that that is how therapy works. Now I’m not going to force you into doing anything, I just want to talk about what’s bothering you about seeing any one of your friends who isn’t John.” Hardwick gave me a hard look, daring me to defy her.

“Nothing is ‘bothering’ me, what is happening is good reasoning as to why I _shouldn’t_ see them again.” I dared her to go on.

“Ah, you don’t want to talk about what happened the last time you saw any of them.” Hardwick nodded, “And at a guess, you don’t want to see Lestrade the most because of what ‘came out’ at your last meeting, when really he got the wrong end of the stick. Yet you can explain what really happened, or at least assure him you didn't do horrible things to people like the police force has assumed. What is it that you don’t want to admit to?”

“If you can’t work that out, you aren’t a very good therapist.” How was she not getting that I didn't want to talk about the fact that _I had killed people_ to a _detective at Scotland Yard._ One I had _attacked_ simply because he had touched me!

“I thought we were past being defensive Sherlock, especially after all the progress we have made over the past few weeks. Surely you can tell that you can trust me with your thoughts and feelings by now?” Hardwick asked, playing the sympathetic card wasn't going to work.

“You got me to hug John without snapping his neck, congratulations. This is a completely different ball game, and nothing you can change by _therapy._ ” I hissed the word out, because it was _useless_ to talk about it when it didn't change the fact that _I had killed people_ and talking to a DI was going to end with him having to report me to the police. Sanctioned killing was still _murder._

“Tell me about it anyway, you never know, I may be able to help.” Hardwick leant back in her chair, trying to look as open as possible.

Loki whined at me, so I used both hands to stroke him, if only just to shut him up.

“Talking isn’t going to change the past, or the bl**dy law.” I grumbled, looking away from her.

“You’re avoiding the subject Sherlock, and I’m not going to let it go until you tell me what’s bothering you.” Hardwick crossed her arms, “Now we can either talk here, in the front room, or we can go to your sensory room and you can tell me there in that calming atmosphere. I’ll even let you play violin if that’ll help you, but we will talk about it, because it is important.”

“I’m not talking about it! I don’t want to see my friends because of my past actions, _leave it alone._ ” I shouted at the woman, why couldn't she let it go?! She could figure it out for herself and leave me the _fuck_ alone because she couldn't change what happened! _Once a killer, always a killer. Never going to change that._

“So it’s your past actions bothering you, meaning that there is something that Lestrade at the very least is not going to approve of. You don’t want to admit to it because of his reaction, it obviously isn’t something about your mental health because he isn’t stupid to not have guessed that your mental health is not to its usual standards. So it must be something you’ve done, and seeing as you were fine with seeing him up until you came here, it must be to do with what happened the day you came here. Did something come out that day? Or did someone guess something and give everybody the wrong impression?” Hardwick guessed, I didn't want her going down the route! Couldn’t she shut up and leave it?! I wanted it to be left alone! _Nothing gets left alone with you. Everything must be out in the open so everyone knows you’re a psychopathic monster._

“He got the wrong impression, can we just leave it at that?!” I pleaded, I wanted it left at that, I didn't want to talk about this anymore!

“I don’t think we can, you’re incredibly skittish about it, so it’s obviously affecting you a lot.” Hardwick pressed on, “What did he get the impression of then?”

“I don’t want to talk about it! I don’t want to think about it!” I didn't want this, I wanted the subject changed!

“It’s going to hurt, but Sherlock, if you never talk about it, you may never manage to face your friends again. Do you not want to see them again? I was under the impression that you would really love to see them again someday. That’s why we worked on your touch tolerance, so you could go back to work again.” Hardwick insisted, _well she has a point there._

“He... He thinks I tortured people. It came out wrong and now he thinks I’m a torturing psychopath! But I never tortured anyone, _never._ Not once, I swear I didn't!” I pleaded that she believed me. I didn't torture anyone, I swore, I didn't do that. _No you just killed them. Same difference._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments/kudos! Just to let you know, if at some point in the next month I miss posting a chapter or something, its because I've been incredibly busy! I've been hit with a tonne of essays recently - I've got 3 essays and 3 portfolio creative pieces to write by January 6th so I'm a bit swamped! I'll try my best, but I'm definitely going to be a bit busy for a while!


	178. Chapter 178

177 Sherlock's POV                                                             

“How did Lestrade get to that conclusion?” Hardwick asked, putting down her pen to look at me.

“I... It was the body. I-It had been tortured and beat up, I-I recognised it because I’d seen the marks o-on me. My explanation came out wrong a-and Anderson and Donovan thought the worst, the, all the officers now think I-I tortured someone to death.” I whispered, wrapping my dressing gown around my body, feeling it shiver with the memories. _They always thought you were a psychopath, now they have the proof. All they need is to see you again and that’s it for you, prison for the rest of your life._

“And now you’re scared that Lestrade thinks the same of you. Though you can always talk to him about what actually happened, he’s always understood you before, so why you don’t want to explain things is a mystery to me. If you didn't torture anybody, what have you got to hide?” Hardwick asked, _she has your damn files, she bloody knows everything, what is she thinking she’s doing?!_

“You know exactly what I did! You know what I did out there, you _know_ why I can’t tell Lestrade why I know what torture marks look like!” If I told him I’d been tortured, I’d have to tell him how I got out, and even if he didn't find out about every other person I killed during those two years, he’d known I’d killed fifteen just to get out of Serbia. He’d know that I _killed_ people, and I didn't want him to know! I didn't want anybody to know! It wasn’t okay; it was _wrong,_ so damn wrong!

I’d killed people, God I had killed so _many_ people. I was a psychopath, Donovan had always been right, I was a psychopath. _A psychopath who up until recently couldn't even let a human being touch him without trying to kill them too._

“Sherlock, the killings you carried out were sanctioned, and the ones that weren’t were necessary for your survival. You didn't bring harm to any innocent people.” Hardwick’s face softened with sympathy.

“I did though! What about their families? They lost their loved ones, because of me! Parents, wives, husbands, _children_ lost them because of me! And I didn't even blink, I just shot, stabbed and poisoned without thinking! I just did it without caring! I killed so many people and I _can’t_ admit to that, I can’t tell anybody that! They’ll... They’ll send me away to prison; I don’t want to go to prison.” I cried, burying my face in Loki’s fur, wanting to completely break down and sob.

“You won’t go to prison Sherlock, what you did was justified and more importantly _ordered_ by the government. They won’t punish you for what you did; the same way soldiers and spies don’t get punished for the kills they carried out lawfully. You’re safe from that, I promise. And your friends will understand too, they don’t go round arresting John for shooting bad people do they? He’s no different from you in that respect.” Hardwick sighed, “You can’t shut yourself away from the world forever because you feel guilty over your actions, actions which were ordered by the government itself.”

“I don’t feel _guilty,_ I just don’t want to go to prison, aren’t you listening?!” I didn't feel guilty! I never felt guilt for anything, I didn't _feel._

_Just keep telling yourself that._

“Are you sure? You are acting like you feel pretty guilty for this.” Hardwick raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t _feel_ things! I’m a sociopath! I have no emotions!” I shouted, I didn't feel guilty, I wasn't feeling _guilty_! I didn't feel, I had no feelings, I didn't _feel._

“Sherlock that’s not true, that’s the lie you hide behind when you want to hide your emotions. You always use that label when you’re too scared to admit that you’re fallible and breakable. You’re no more a sociopath than I am, and you never will be. You feel guilt over the kills you carried out, and you now don’t want to admit to it, as it’s keeping you from your friends and you don’t want them to know what you did. So why don’t you sit down and tell me instead, because this guilt will crush you if you don’t talk to _someone_ about it.” Hardwick made me sit down with her hard look.

_Well that told you, you’re not a sociopath, you’re just special needs. What’s worse do you think? At least a sociopath has an excuse for their behaviour that people will listen to, and then they will leave you alone too._

“But I _can’t._ ” I curled up in the seat.

“Why not?” Hardwick asked.

“It’s... It’s complicated.” I answered, leaning my head against the chair.

“Are you having trouble articulating your feelings? Because I can help you with that if it’s needed.” Hardwick softened again, “We can use your violin, or anything else you’d feel comfortable using to explain your thoughts.”

“I don’t need my violin or anything else,” no way was I using my violin to articulate how I felt about _this,_ “It’s just...” I trailed off.

“Just what Sherlock?” Hardwick pressed, though gentler than before. _She’s broken you down, so there’s no need to be too tough now. She has to be tough only when you’re screaming and shouting like a mad man._

“I... I don’t know where to start.” I whispered, letting Loki nudge my face with his nose, it was grounding.

“How about from your first target?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments/kudos!  
> Side note: I FINISHED NANOWRIMO 5 DAYS EARLY! Go me lol! I was hoping to use this month to complete this fic, but ended up working more on another one for a different fandom and my blog o_O but I am nearing the end of this now in terms of writing, then all I'll need to do is have it beta'd and post it up! Horray! :D


	179. Chapter 179

178 Sherlock's POV

“I... I was... I was in France, had only been gone a week. I’d decided that I wanted to get rid of the assassins first, then go after the rest of the network,” I started explaining, hunching into myself as much as possible. I didn't want to talk about his; I _really_ didn't want to talk about this at all! Dear God why did I have to talk about this?! _Its therapy, apparently it’s needed to ‘get better’ or some rubbish._

“I-I went after Lestrade’s assassin first, because he was the easiest to track down. He... He was already lining up another mark, on, on top of a building. I found a taller building at a reasonable distance, and waited until nightfall to set up, so he didn't see me or suspect anything. It... It was so cold that night,” I could almost feel the cold now, the wind blowing across my face, freezing my features; “I was wearing gloves. To keep the heat in, and to stop my prints getting on the gun. I was supposed to be dead after all. The gun was heavy in my arms; I’m not used to carrying rifles that size, or holding a position for that long, waiting for him to arrive.”

“It took four hours for him to set himself up on the roof top, a-and I was so determined to take him down, so determined to ensure he’d never hurt another human being. I wasn't even thinking of myself, or how I’d never killed anyone before. I was just... just thinking about putting a bullet in his head. So I did. I lined up the sight, took aim, and fired. Bullet through his head, blood all over the roof top, nobody even noticed he was there. The way he hit the ground though, he just flopped over, and he was gone. With just a small pull of a trigger and there he was, gone. I, I went over to check he was really dead, a-and he was.” I felt like I was in a dream state as I said, talking through it as I remembered every second on that day.

_The bullet was lodged in the ground, using a knife I pulled it out, pocketing the smashed metal. Taking a second, I looked at the body, the wide eyes, the blood around the floor. I had caused that. Me. This body was on the floor like this because of **me.**_

_I had just killed a man, oh God **I had just killed someone.** I’d never killed anybody before! I had beaten people and thrown them out of windows, but I had never ended somebody’s life! This person had been alive just half an hour ago and now they were **dead** and I’d just killed them! They were still warm, fuck, fuck, fuck, **fuck** I had just killed someone! I felt sick; disgust churning my stomach, a man was dead because of **me.**_

_I turned and ran from the roof top, making it down to the pavement and throwing up in the alley, heaving up what little I had eaten in the last twenty four hours. **I had just killed someone. I had just killed someone.** And I had to do it so many more times, I was alone in this, and I **had** to do it. I didn't know if I could handle this... _

For hours, I explained, in order, every single kill I made. All of them. Every assassin, drug lord, gun runner, kidnapper, torturer, cartel owner, all of them were dead by my hand. I had no help, no other agent as back up. Just me. And I had slain all of them, cut each and every single one down. By the end I was doing it without blinking, just pulling triggers, sticking in knives and tainting food with poison without a care. Every kill was like getting a step closer to home, all of them a small victory, _another attack survived, another small step back to London._

By the time I got to Serbia, I was exhausted, shivering and crying into Loki’s fur, _hating_ myself for doing this. I’d done all of that and in the end it had almost been easy. It had been _easy_ to put a bullet in someone’s brain, to take their coat off them and use it for myself when I had nothing. I had done it, I had _survived_ it all, and now here I was, hating the memories, knowing I had done those things. I was a _monster_ for doing that, how could I do that to another human being? How had I been able to not hate myself for every kill I made after the twentieth target?

When did I get used to _murdering_ people like that? I didn't want that to be me, I didn't want to think that these hands had done that to so many and not even cared. I hadn’t even noticed the switch between being disgusted to counting down how many more people I had to get through before I went home.

“I-I don’t know what came over me. I-I’m not like this, this isn’t me. I wasn't... I wasn't, I didn't want to do this. I don’t want to remember,” I cried, feeling so sick of myself, I wanted to tear my own skin off, “I’m a monster, I’m such a monster. How could I not care? I should have cared but I didn't! I don’t understand, I don’t want to understand! I want to forget, how can I forget?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments and the kudos, it means a lot! I struggled a lot to write these chapters, as I've never gone this intense before in any story, hearing that you're enjoying it really helps! :D


	180. Chapter 180

179 Sherlock's POV                                               

“Sherlock, you are _not_ a monster for what you did. You were doing what was necessary to survive and save your friends. This was not a normal situation, this was a mission you were ordered to carry out. And yes, it was an awful mission, and you are perfectly within your rights to feel guilt over it. But you are not a monster for carrying out orders and surviving.” Hardwick reassured me, kneeling in front of my chair. She hesitated for a second, before gently holding my hand, moving it to press over Loki’s heartbeat, like she was trying to get me to focus on that.

“I-I stopped caring though, I stopped caring about ending people’s _lives._ How could I do that? What kind of monster doesn’t care when they end a life?” I whispered, _psychopaths, that’s who doesn’t care. I’ve been telling you all along that you’re a psychopath, this is proof._

“I don’t think you didn't care Sherlock, I think what happened was that you repressed your feelings to get through each day. Being alone like you were, having absolutely nobody to talk to or back you up, would drive anybody to distraction. Add the fact that you had to kill to escape being _tortured_ and you’ve got yourself a recipe for emotion repression.” Hardwick explained, “I’ve seen this many times before in soldiers back from war, they got on with the job while they were in the war zone, ignoring and repressing their feelings, but when they get home their emotions surface again. They find themselves horrified at what they’ve done, and some can’t live with themselves, even though they did what they had to do to survive. I think the same thing has happened with you, you spent your time away repressing everything that wasn't to do with your mission, now you’re here, it’s all hit home and you don’t know how to process it all.”

“And I can see that you don’t believe me, but let me tell you right now that this is true. I’ve seen it happen so often. You are not alone in this, so many have felt the exact same way as you do right now, and there is no shame in that.” She continued, squeezing my hand gently. Today was the first time she had ever touched me, _apparently she thinks you’re over your touch phobia. Or she’s just used to holding onto psychopaths._

“I’m not ashamed of how I feel! I’m ashamed of what I did!” I _hated_ this, Hardwick didn't understand, I hadn’t been emotionless out there. I had felt pain and fear, had felt nauseous and disgusted with myself at the beginning, but it had gone away after a few kills. I hadn’t repressed what I was feeling; I had _stopped_ caring about what I was doing. _Not even soldiers or spies or anybody stops caring about what they’re doing on missions. Even Mycroft has emotions about what he’s done in the past. You didn't._

“I understand that, I do. But I want you to listen to me; I’m not lying about emotional repression in a horrible situation. It’s incredibly common, and I suspect it has happened with you while you were away. Now you’re sitting here, safe and away from a battle, but these emotions feel like you’re still battling with something. You’re beating yourself up over multiple situations which were kill or be killed. It’s a horrible mental situation to be in, especially when all your nightmares and flashbacks are based around hurting people, but I want to help you with coming to terms with what you’ve done, and help with nightmares and flashbacks. Loki and your sensory room are doing pretty well, but I think talking about it more will help too. It’s going to be tough, but you will eventually feel better about all of this, I promise.”

Hardwick had me talking through everything that happened, asking me to go over everything again, remembering every hit and kick, every snapped neck, bullet hole and dead body. Every. Single. One. For each, she tried to reassure me that it was okay, that each one was necessary, but I still felt so _guilty_ for it. All two hundred and seventy three deaths. I remembered all of them, and I hated myself for ending their lives. Even though it was supposed to happen, it was ordered and necessary to continue living and to save my friends lives, it _hurt_ to know I had ended that many people.

Real, living people. People who had wives, husbands, possible children, friends and extended family. And I’d taken that person from those people; I had ended so many lives, and affected so many more by taking those lives. All in the name of justice.

It didn't feel like justice right now, it felt like a huge mistake. Moriarty’s network was vast and reached every part of the planet, but couldn't I have taken them down in other ways? Couldn't I have handed all those criminals into the police? Or given Mycroft the information to do as he wished with the culprits? Why did I have to kill them all? Why did I decide that killing them all was the best idea?

I could have snuck out that Serbian base, and the Korean one too, if I had tried hard enough. I didn't have to kill everybody there. There had been no need to end all those lives! Why did I think it was necessary?! Oh God I was a horrible person! I was such a monster, a psychopathic monster. _You should have let them kill you when you had the chance._ I should have, I should have died. I should have let those torturers kill me, or John when I begged him to in the graveyard. Someone should have taken me out, why didn't they take me out?!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments/kudos! Had a small panic yesterday because the word document I have wouldn't save, and then my laptop wouldn't open it either, saying that the file was 'corrupted' I seem to have fixed it now, but I've now backed this fic up on my email to hopefully keep hold of it in case something happens!


	181. Chapter 181

180 John's POV

After mine and Sherlock’s hug, he had a major depressive dip. Whenever I arrived, Mycroft and Charlotte Hardwick had to warn me that he was very fragile at the moment, thanks to things discussed in therapy, which meant I ended up trying to cheer the poor guy up for most of my visit. My attempts didn't work in the slightest, so I usually let Sherlock play his violin while I tried to get a conversation going. Sometimes he replied, sometimes he was almost a brick wall, though the more ‘brick wall’ days didn't even involve violin playing. Those days I found that Sherlock wanted to lie on his mattress, curled up in his dressing gown and stroke Loki’s fur while I talked to him about anything I could think of. I didn't know if it helped him to sit close and talk like that, but there wasn't much else that I could do for him. Not without knowing the root cause of this depression.

“Sherlock, what’s up? You were doing so well recently, what’s changed?” I asked, having been talking to the human brick wall for two hours straight with no response. God, I swear I used to be good at dealing with these black moods, but somehow I had gotten completely out of practice. Then again, this didn't just feel like a black mood, this felt different, though I couldn't put my finger on why.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Sherlock mumbled into Loki’s fur.

“Don’t want to talk about it as in you’ve talked it to death in therapy, or don’t want to talk about it to me specifically?” I raised an eyebrow, debating whether or not I should touch him.

We were in his special sensory room, so he was in a ‘calm state’ but he was so down I wasn't sure if touching him would make his mood worse. Probably best to not touch him for the moment, or at least ask permission to do so first, so I didn't set him off.

“Both.” Sherlock answered in a flat voice, his fingers tapping out the usual patterns over Loki’s rib cage. Loki stopped him by butting his head against his fingers until he stroked the golden fur instead.

“Alright, well you know where I am if you change your mind.” I figured I could let him have that bit of privacy, he wasn't getting much with all this therapy. Though my mind boggled with the idea that there was something bothering him that he felt like he couldn't talk to me about. What could he have possibly been talking about which would make him think that he couldn't tell me about it? I’d seen and done so much over the years, I doubted anything Sherlock did now would surprise me.

There was silence for a few minutes, neither of us knowing what to say to each other. Though I could tell that there was something on Sherlock’s mind, something that he wanted to say, but couldn't quite find the words for. I didn't push him, in fear of pushing him away instead of helping him to speak up. So, I waited for him to be ready, so he could work up his courage, or whatever it was he needed right now.

“John... How did it... When you were in the army, how did soldiers react to their missions?” Now that was not something I was expecting to come out of his mouth.

“Er, what kind of missions? Rescue, recon or enemy neutralisation?” I had a feeling he meant about shooting people, but I wanted to make sure.

“The last one.” Sherlock whispered, like if he spoke really quietly, we wouldn’t have this conversation.

“Well, erm,” how did I explain this to him? And why was he asking? Jesus this wasn't about what he’d done while he was away was it? “Each person is different, and every mission is different too, so it’s hard to say... Some managed to be pretty okay with it, though I can’t really tell you how they were after they returned home, as I wasn't friends with _everyone._ Some others were immediately traumatised at ending human life, even when it was necessary to survive. And the rest felt guilt, but they continued on like nothing happened. It’s all relative to who each person is and what the reasons were behind each fatality.” I explained, unsure on how to word it.

I had seen many break down over the years after their first kill, even when that kill was the difference between life and death for that particular soldier. Others managed to maintain their cool for a while, before it got too much and they didn't exactly _shut down_ as such, it was more of a fall into depression after guilt had ate away at them for too long. Then there were quite a few who seemed fine with the whole thing. Whether that was all bravado I didn't know, but some did genuinely seem to be okay with their actions.

For me, it took a while to get used to ending other human lives, especially after training as a doctor. My first kill, I went into a state of shock really, where I completely shut down, unable to think straight for several hours afterwards. But I soon learnt that it was _kill or be killed_ out in that Afghan desert, so pushed aside all doctorly thoughts and got on with it. I still felt guilt for every kill I made (still did, hence the occasional therapy session) but I managed to justify it with the fact that if I didn't kill that person, they would have killed others, or me. I’d have rather shot them than to have them hurt somebody else when I could have stopped them myself.

To be completely honest though, I _did_ feel guilt, even after shooting the ‘villain of the week’ or whoever else it was. Not as much as I used to, but the thought of ending human life did still affect me a bit. It was a strange sensation, knowing that technically I had done the right thing, yet feeling absolutely awful for ending another person’s life.

I wondered if that was what Sherlock was struggling with... But surely he hadn’t been killing while he was out there, had he? Surely not. Wait... Sherlock wasn't the one who killed Moriarty, was he? I hadn’t even thought he would do that... Sure I’d seen his violent side (the American agent looking for Irene Adler’s phone could attest to that) and I’d heard far too many times that one day we would stand around a body and he was the one who put it there. But Sherlock _actually_ killing someone? I didn't know... Did he really have that in him?

Then again, who would have thought that a _doctor_ was capable of committing that act several times over themselves...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments and the kudos, these chapters have been quite hard to write, and I struggled a lot with it if I'm honest! The encouragement really helps though, so thank you all for that!   
> Also, I know that this has probably gone horrible OOC, but I feel like it has to go a little OOC to get these two idiots to /talk/ to each other, you know? I couldn't see a way of getting them to talk without it going a bit off, so I apologise for that!


	182. Chapter 182

181 Sherlock's POV

John tensed when he made the connection between the conversation and who exactly had started it. _He knows you killed people._ He was going to eventually find out, especially as I could tell that Hardwick was going to try to get us to talk about this. She wasn't making any headway in making me feel like my reaction to murdering people was normal, or making me accept it. And when she couldn't get through to me, she seemed to think that John was a good person to talk to, she seemed to think I listened to him more than her. It was more that I respected his experience and he didn't act like it was all okay all the time. I couldn't stand the constant reassurance that everything I did was totally justified and okay. It put my teeth on edge.

“Sherlock... are you trying to tell me something?” John asked, hesitant.

“No. Just, just wondering.” I bottled out of telling him, not ready for him to know for sure what I had done. He wouldn’t tell Lestrade, but I didn't want him knowing just how many I had taken down over those two years, or how brutally I had done it. I didn't want him thinking any different of me, or at least not think of me as any more of a psychopath.

“You sure?” John forcibly relaxed his muscles, taking to petting Loki’s fur. The dog didn't seem to mind, staying exactly where he was, his head resting near my own.

“Yeah. Fine.” I would have elaborated, made up a lie about reading about these subjects during the day or something, but only lies had detail. Best to stick to as little explanation as possible.

“Alright,” John sighed, though he didn't sound all too convinced, “If you fancy asking any more questions, I’m up for them, and I could probably find out some more stuff for you too if you want.”

“Thanks... I think I’ll be fine.” I flashed him a smile, before going back to playing with Loki’s collar.

Though I couldn't stop thinking about it all, thinking about how John had described others reactions to what they had done. I felt like I had done a similar thing to those soldiers, but they had been _soldiers,_ I hadn’t been a soldier. I hadn’t been a part of a troupe, regiment, or anything. Those two years had just been _me,_ and me alone, there hadn’t been anyone else the entire time. So did this advice even count? I had such a different experience to those soldiers, who was to say that I would react in the same way? It felt like I had, but _had I?_ I didn't know, and it worried me to think about it.

“Do you think someone on their own would have a similar reaction? As in, if they didn't have any back up, do you think they’d have a similar reaction to soldiers surrounded by fellow soldiers?” I asked after a long stretch of silence, unsure if I was going too far. I could quite possibly have been going too far here and letting John know a bit _too_ much of what was going on with me. _Don’t let him see what you are; don’t let him find out what you did!_

“Oh definitely, without a doubt they would! It’s bad enough to go through that surrounded by people, a few of which have been through similar. To go through it on your own though, Jesus, I’d say that person would definitely develop some sort of coping mechanism to help them survive. Then they’d probably have it all hit home when they got somewhere safe. I definitely would have done, I was enough of a mess when I got home and found myself alone, if I’d been alone for the action part,” John cut himself off with a shudder, his hand finding mine to gently rest over it, giving me enough time to pull away if I wished. I didn't.

“O-Okay.” I nodded slowly, taking in what he said. It made sense, but I couldn't quite justify it in my own head.

I had killed over _two hundred_ people in two years, all across the globe. And I was getting away with it with no punishment whatsoever. There had been over two hundred lives ended because of me, and so many more ruined because of the loss. As I had slaughtered, I hadn’t cared, I had just continued on like it was nothing to be thought of. I had seen an enemy, planned out their deaths (sometimes in split seconds when there wasn't much time) and executed them. Judge, jury and executioner. Over and over again, because I had been ordered to.

And I was _getting away with it;_ I couldn't get over the fact that I wasn't being punished for it. That I hadn’t felt anything while I was out there. I had killed like I was shooting the wall at Baker Street. I had ended lives without blinking for two years, and it was only now that I felt the guilt for it. Yet nobody was punishing me for anything, nobody was avoiding me for what I had done, nobody was treating me like a depraved psychopath, and I didn't understand. I didn't understand _why_ nobody cared, didn't quite understand why I hadn’t been effected by murdering hundreds while I was on the run, didn't understand why it was only now that I felt like a monster for my actions.

I just didn't understand any of it, couldn't wrap my head around what I had done, who I had turned into, or why nobody seemed to care all that much. This was all being treated like it was normal, like me killing people was an everyday occurrence. What did I do to stop it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments/kudos! It does genuinely mean a lot, thank you!


	183. Chapter 183

182 Sherlock's POV                                                             

I tried to explain my thoughts to Hardwick the next day, but I couldn't quite figure out how to put it. Talking about _feelings_ wasn't my strong point, talking about anything wasn't really a strong point if I was honest. But this was a whole new level of awkward, I didn't know how to word what I was feeling, or how to order my thoughts enough to make it sound coherent. Even after thinking about it all night, I couldn’t figure out the _whys_ or the _hows,_ or any of it. _Nice to know that that intellect of yours is dissipating at an alarming rate. Think you’ll be able to string a sentence together after more months of no mental stimulation?_

“Can I try to summarise for you?” Hardwick asked, I nodded, “You’re confused because you went out and did some terrible things, all of which were part of a mission and were done so you could survive, but nobody is treating you like a psychopath. You’re not getting jail time for murder, and the world is continuing to tick over like nothing happened. And what’s confusing you more is the fact that you started caring again about the hits you carried out while you were away when you got back, not while you were out in the thick of it. To you, it feels like you should be punished for your actions, that people should be treating you differently, that if you didn't care in the first place, you won’t care now. But the opposite is happening, and now you’re not sure on how to deal with it.”

“Accurate enough I guess.” I shrugged; there wasn't really a better way to describe what was going on than that.

“Good. Now, I’ve already told you many times that you did what you had to do to survive. The Serbians, the Koreans, all of those times you nearly got killed, you _had_ to kill to live. If you hadn’t have killed those people, you would have died, and you intended to live. You had to live to get back home to John, who you did all this for. Everybody else you had to kill because they were a threat to others. They were all a part of Moriarty’s web, and you had to take that down in order to keep everybody safe. The world is a better place without those people in it; I can assure you of that.” Hardwick told me seriously, staring at me like it would help me keep the information in.

“As for why you feel guilt now, I’ve already told you. You were repressing feelings in order to survive, now that you’re not in danger; the emotions are flooding back with a vengeance. Your entire world view has shifted from being on the run to being stuck at home with nothing to do. I would recommend you taking on a case but I currently don’t think looking at dead bodies will help you at all. So all these thoughts are in your head, unable to stop swirling around, and you’re being forced to think about what you did, and you’re allowing yourself to _feel_ it.” She continued, still looking at me solidly, barely daring to blink as she spoke.

“So what are you recommending? Turning off my emotions and ignoring it, because I’ve tried that, it doesn’t work!” I glared, I’d tried that _months_ ago, and it had done _nothing!_

_Nothing works with you. Ever. This is a bloody lost cause._

“Of course not! I would never recommend that you turned off your emotions, emotions are incredibly important, and to be honest I’d be more worried about you if you weren’t showing any sort of emotional response to your actions. What I’m saying is that we need to desensitise you to what happened out there, to retrain your brain so it’s not just feeling immense guilt for the kills. So you know that there was no other choice in the matter and you did what you had to do.” Hardwick answered. _SHE WANTS TO CHANGE WHO YOU ARE! SHE WANTS TO CHANGE YOUR THOUGHTS AND MAKE YOU DIFFERENT!_

“You can’t retrain my brain, I need it intact!” I needed my brain intact; I needed it to be exactly the same as always! It couldn't change, I needed it!

“Whoa there, I didn't mean _completely_ change your brain. I meant that I want to talk through with you exactly what happened out there, in every incident. As we do that, I want us to explore what happened, the alternate routes you could have taken and their potential outcomes. With that, I can show you that there was no other choice in your actions. With this I can hope to rewrite your thoughts on what happened, so you don’t feel as guilty. I can’t get rid of your guilt completely, but I can show you that you didn't have another choice, and so you are justified in your actions.”  Hardwick explained.

“What... What about the, the other stuff?” _the punishment stuff. Go on; say it, punishment for your actions._

“Sherlock, you’re currently sitting in your brother’s house, away from home and away from most of your friends and livelihood, while suffering from a severe case of PTSD. I think you’ve been punished enough for what you’ve done, even when you shouldn’t be punished anyway, considering that you were ordered to do it.” Hardwick sighed, I hadn’t, I hadn’t really thought of it that way...

“Now, seeing as we’re going to be discussing what happened again and again, I think that this is a perfect opportunity to open up to others about your mission,” _shit_ I didn't like where this was going, “So far, only me and Mycroft know exactly what you did, and why. I think, at the least, you should also discuss this with John. Maybe not in acute detail, but at least a little bit. He’s going to understand this more than I can, as he’s been in a similar situation, and he seemed to help you a little last night. So, do you think you would be up for telling him what happened? I’m not saying to do it today, or any time soon, but I think you should talk to him about this. He could help more than you know, and it will help clear the air between the two of you, so you’re both on the same page about this entire situation.”

She _had_ to be joking right? I couldn't tell John about this! That was insane! He’d never look at me the same way again! He’d never... he wouldn’t... he couldn't know! I couldn’t tell him what happened! I couldn't tell him about every person I killed, about what happened on that damn rooftop! He couldn’t know any of it; I didn't want him to know! That was ridiculous; he’d think me more of a psychopath than he did already!

“He can’t find out! That’s insane, are you crazy?! He’d never... I don’t want him to know!” I shouted, I _never_ wanted John to find out about this! _Never!_ It was crazy to think that he could find out about this! He couldn't find out about the killing, about the torture, about _Serbia_ and _Korea!_ He couldn't find out about that, or about all the people I slaughtered, or any of it! That would be ridiculous! He couldn't know!

“Why not? Do you think he’ll think of you as a psychopath or something? If so, you highly underestimate your best friend. He’s stuck around through everything else, and has been in combat situations before; he knows what it’s like out there. Him finding out what you did won’t make him think any less of you.” Hardwick tried to explain.

“NO! I won’t tell him! I won’t! I can’t tell him about any of it!” John had to be kept in the dark about the killing; I didn't want him to know just how many I took down! I didn't want him to know!

“Okay, okay, but can you at least think of telling him _why_ you jumped? Give him that at least, he’s stuck around for so long with no idea what you did for him, or why. He’s probably dying to know, and finding that out at least would give him some sense of closure, or at least an idea as to what happened for those two years. Currently he has nothing Sherlock, he just knows that you faked your death and came back completely changed. At least tell him _why_ you jumped.” Could I do as she said though? Could I really tell him about that day? About the plan, the snipers, Moriarty’s suicide? All of it? Could I tell him? I didn't know! Shit Hardwick had a point but I didn't know if I could! _Fuck,_ this was impossible to deal with!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments/kudos! And I'm nearing the end of my uni term, which hopefully means I'll have more time to write in between all these essays! I may actually finish this monster!


	184. Chapter 184

183 John's POV

Mycroft and Charlotte explained to me that soon Sherlock would hopefully be talking to me about The Fall, and quite frankly, I wasn't even sure I wanted to talk about that day. Any other day of our lives sure, but not _that_ day. Not the day I watched him fall to what I believed was his death, hearing that phone call, thinking that I failed him, that the last thing I had said to him face to face was _you machine._ I still regretted saying that every single day, every damn day I regretted saying that. I regretted everything I did the day of The Fall, and I really didn't want to talk about that day...

But, if it was part of Sherlock’s therapy, and if it would make him better, I supposed I could deal with it. Maybe. If we just... took it slow, it would be okay. Yeah, take it slow, possibly skirt around the more painful topics, we’d be okay. Hopefully. Shit I didn't want to talk about this. If it helped Sherlock though, we’d have to. Jesus I would need a drink for this chat, whenever it came up.

It took a while actually, more than a week since Mycroft’s warning. Sherlock still hadn’t exactly ‘bounced back’ from his bad mood, he was still very down, and quite jumpy some days too. I’d been told that he was talking through everything that had happened in the past two years in therapy and it was bringing up some awful memories, I didn't dare ask him about it in fear of making his mood worse.

Sherlock was looking tired again, like he wasn't sleeping, or possibly eating for that matter, he picked at the food I gave him. All the talking and remembering was exhausting him, I don’t think I’d _ever_ seen him this run down before. Or depressed for that matter. I had thought the black moods were bad, and the depression he’d been in when I moved back into the flat, but this somehow felt worse. Like Sherlock’s soul was being ripped out, leaving him a shell of the man he once was.

“John,” Sherlock started the long awaited discussion, “I, there’s something I should tell you, about the day I... the day this all started.” He was so hesitant, even while sitting in his sensory room, plucking his violin half heartedly along to the music playing softly in the background.

“Okay, go ahead.” I braced myself, not sure exactly what I was going to hear. Was I going to be asked if I actually thought of Sherlock as a machine? Was it _why_ he jumped? Or what actually happened that day? What I did after he jumped? _How_ he jumped off a building and lived?

“Erm... Thing is... I realised I haven’t, I haven’t really told you _why_ I ju- I did what I did. I should, I should probably tell you what happened on that roof, and why, why it gave me a panic attack the last time we went to Bart’s.” Sherlock seemed to steel himself for this conversation, I was glad I wasn't the only one scared of this.

There was a long pause, Sherlock taking a moment to centre himself, running his hands down Loki’s spine and adjusting the dog’s collar.

“The day I... Can we just say the day it happened? You are uncomfortable with the memory of what you saw.” Sherlock pleaded, hands starting to shake. Loki licked his face, he let him.

“Of course.” He was deflecting a bit, but I let him.          

“Good... It started months before, just before the crown jewels were stolen...” Sherlock started explaining his plan with Mycroft to take down Moriarty, how it involved months of planning and practically guessing what he wanted. They luckily guessed right, Moriarty wanted Sherlock to die, but he’d have to fake it to take down the rest of the network.

“But didn’t Moriarty see through that? You’re too stubborn to just jump off a roof at his say so.” I asked, hating to interrupt, but there were questions that needing answering.

“That’s... That’s where it gets a bit, it gets a bit complicated.” Sherlock sighed, “It’s just that... Moriarty knew that I wouldn’t just jump off a roof without a metaphorical push. He knew I was clever enough to fake it, but he wanted to make sure I was dead. So he had... he had snipers... they were...” he cut off, wiping tears from his eyes.

“Hey, take your time. I’m still here, I’ll wait.” I squeezed his hand, getting a squeeze back.

“I just... I’m really sorry John. I didn't mean for it to happen, but it was what Moriarty planned. I couldn't stop him; he forced me into all of this with those snipers. He, he had three snipers,” I had a terrible feeling I knew where this was going, “And they were pointed at you. At you, Mrs Hudson and Lestrade. Three bullets, three gunmen, three victims. Nothing to stop them unless I jumped, completing Moriarty’s story.” Sherlock explained, hands tightened around my own.

“I... fuck Sherlock, I didn't realise.” I didn't even know what to say to that.

There had been _snipers_ on me, Greg and Mrs Hudson? Moriarty had put snipers on us to force Sherlock to jump... he’d made him do that to save us. Sherlock had saved our lives. I couldn't believe he’d saved our lives.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” Sherlock whispered, “I had no choice... I thought I could outwit him by figuring out that there was a recall code, a word or something to call them off. But then... he... he _shot_ himself in the head. I had no way to call them off, I couldn't call off the snipers, I had to jump to save you. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, you had no choice. You did what was right; you had to do it to save us.” I pulled him closer, regretting all that time I spent hating him. If I had known he was saving us, I would have _never_ treated him like I did when he came back. I would have never called him a machine. My God how could I have ever thought that this man was anything but incredible? He’d saved our lives, and hadn’t even tried to tell us to manipulate us into forgiving him. He’d been carrying this around for _years._ He was stronger than I had ever imagined. I couldn't believe I hadn’t figured this out before. I should have figured this out; I should have figured it out.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments/kudos! I'm officially on Christmas break now too, horray!  
> Also, anyone else absolutely freaking out over the X-Men trailer, because I'm having a meltdown over the X-Men trailer!


	185. Chapter 185

184 Sherlock's POV

Holding John’s hand did nothing to make me feel any better about the situation, remembering everything that had happened that day, all the memories of the past two years, it was _screaming_ inside my head. All I could hear was Moriarty’s last words, the last words of everybody I killed, gun shots, bodies hitting the floor. Every damn sound thundering through my head like it was happening right now, all at the same time. It _hurt._

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I didn't mean to cause all this pain.” I hadn’t meant for this happen! I had taken on this mission without thinking it through; God how stupid was I to not think all this through?!

**_BANG! Moriarty’s body hit the floor._ **

I’d thought it would be easy, taking a year to go round and take down the web. I didn't think it would involve so much death and pain, I didn't think I would be tortured, that I would be forced to fight for my life on a near daily basis, I didn't think I would be here right now either. It was supposed to be a yearlong mission and life was supposed to go back to the way it was before from the second I returned. Not like this, never, ever like this.

**_CRACK! The neck of my assailant snapped like a twig, the body hitting the floor with barely a sound._ **

“Shh, it’s okay. I do not blame you, there was no other choice. And in making that choice, you saved our lives Sherlock, something that I for one will be _incredibly_ grateful for, for the rest of my life.” John pulled me closer, letting me rest my head on his shoulder. I wouldn’t usually, but I _needed_ to be close right now. I needed this close proximity; I needed to know he was still alive, that I wasn't back on the roof at St Bart’s. John was alive; I had to keep on remembering that.

“He... He shot himself in front of me. He, he shot himself. I... There was so much blood. Always so much blood. Too much blood.” **_Warm blood trickled down my face, soaking through my torn shirt and sticking to my skin, the knife dripping red liquid on the floor._**

“I know, I know. But it’s over now, okay? It’s over; it’s all a memory now.” John rubbed my arm gently.

“You, you were going to die. I had no choice, I, I can’t lose you, I can’t. I had no choice, I had no choice.” I couldn't stop repeating myself, shivering despite the fact that the room was warm.

“Well you didn't lose me. I’m right here, still alive and breathing. And Mrs Hudson and Lestrade are at home, still also alive and well.” John promised, but I still couldn't stop repeating and shivering. I could remember killing the three assassins clear as day; remember shooting all of them, right through the head each time. Had to be the head, couldn't risk anywhere else. Head meant dead. Head always meant dead, no chance of survival.

**_There was no noise as the bullet left its chamber. The bodies falling to the floor made more noise. Nobody noticed they were dead, nobody apart from me. I saw their glassy eyed look as I checked that they were dead. Always had to check, couldn't risk them surviving. They were lifeless, because of me. I shot them to protect my friends. They had to die to make sure they lived._ **

“I... I killed them. I shot them all, made sure they couldn't get to you. They were first on my list; they were all dead within the month. I had to make sure, make sure you couldn't be caught. They’re all dead, I shot them, I shot them.” I could not stop talking, telling John over and over that I had shot his would be assassin, making sure he knew that, regardless of consequences. He had to know. He had to know I made sure that he was safe. That they were all safe. I kept them all safe.

John paused. Then he carried on rubbing my arm.

“I-I had to keep you all alive. No point in doing all of this if you’d all be dead. I needed you all to live, I couldn't create you in my head, not you, not the real you. I needed you to be real and whole. I had to kill them to make sure you lived. I shot them to make sure they didn't shoot you.” I whispered, vaguely feeling Loki licking my hand. He wanted me to pet him. I couldn't find the impulse to do it.

I was stuck, I couldn't break out of talking, or shivering, or thinking about it. I wasn't in the room anymore; I was seeing all those killings, the thoughts running around my head like mantra. Each kill replayed on loop, the sounds, smells and visuals running concurrently, I could hardly remember I was home. That I was leaning on John right now, a very much alive John at that.

All I could think of was what I did, what I had to do. And it was pouring out of me, even though I didn't want it to. I wanted it to stay inside, but it was falling out and I couldn't stop it now. Words and memories fell out; I didn't even know what I was saying. I could have told John all of it. Or just kept repeating what I did to the assassins, I didn't know. I couldn't think straight. I couldn't even _think._

**_John’s was the hardest to take down, he was a fighter. We wrestled for so long; I thought I was going to die. I barely managed to grab the gun and shoot him before he strangled me to death. His body had been so heavy on top of mine when he fell down, I could barely breathe, even with him dead. But he could have killed John, he nearly killed John. He had threatened it before he died. Fuck he nearly killed John._ **

“Hey, Sherlock listen to me. I’m _alive._ Mrs Hudson and Lestrade are _alive._ We’re all alive, because of what you did. There is no shame in what you did, and I for one am not holding it against you. There was nothing else you could do, and because of your actions, we’re all still here in the land of the living, and that’s great.” John was talking, I wasn't hearing him properly.

A hand took my own, moving it to rest underneath a jumper, a thumping rhythm hitting my palm. “We’re alive Sherlock, because of you, _we’re all alive._ You made it home to us, you kept us safe, we’re all still safe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments/kudos, they spur me on to keep writing! If you want, you can tweet me comments @corruptedpov or leave me a message on tumblr at effulgentcorruptedpov :)


	186. Chapter 186

185 Mycroft's POV                              

“You better be right about this talk, _doctor,_ because currently this chat does not look very therapeutic for my brother.” I feigned nonchalance, while on the inside I was getting _very_ worried for my little brother.

He was _shaking_ and _repeating himself,_ both things he never did unless in extreme distress. If this messed with his progress, or made him shut down, I was not going to be best pleased with our doctor. She was not being paid to traumatise my brother further, she was being paid to make him better, I didn't count shaking repetition while in a near catatonic state ‘better.’

“Wait for it Mycroft, have some patience and faith in John. He’ll help Sherlock.” Doctor Hardwick held up a finger, _nobody_ told me to wait for anything.

“If you’re wrong I will not be pleased. You won’t like me disappointed.” I warned, staring at the monitor, pleading the non-existent Gods to let this be okay. Sherlock needed to feel safe and loved; he needed to know that what he did was justified and that he was under orders at the time. He needed to know that he had had no other choice, and he made the right decision in following out orders, despite the consequences.

“Yes, yes, you’ve told me all this before. I distinctly remember being threatened in an abandoned warehouse against failing your little brother. Trust me when I say I know what I’m doing, and therefore am not going to break him into tiny pieces. This will help him in two ways. One, it’s helping him and John fix their relationship by getting them to talk about what happened the day Sherlock fell and a lot of what happened afterwards. Second, it’s another talk through the traumatic events Sherlock has been through, which is what I’ve been doing with him during therapy. Talking _helps,_ and being told that he isn’t blamed for his actions by the most important person in his life will really help solidify that his actions were justified. I’m not doing this to punish Sherlock; I’m doing it to help him.” Doctor Hardwick explained, nodded towards the screen at the end.

On the screen, John reached out for Sherlock’s hand, placing it under his jumper, presumably over his heart. “We’re alive Sherlock, because of you, _we’re all alive._ You made it home to us, you kept us safe, we’re all still safe.”

“You’re... You’re safe.” Sherlock nodded vaguely, staring at the hand shaped lump under his best friend’s jumper.

“100% alive and well. Just as always. Because of _you._ Without you, I would probably be six feet under. Same with Mrs Hudson, and Lestrade. You saved our lives, yes by unconventional means, but you did it out of necessity, and under orders from the British Government himself. And I for one am really bloody grateful you did that for us.” John smiled weakly, using his spare hand to hold Sherlock’s face in place, so they were looking directly into each other’s eyes.

“I... I had no other choice.” Sherlock whispered, eyes pleading and filled with tears.

“I know. And that’s okay. I’m not angry with you, or disgusted. Or anything like that, you had to do what you had to do, you were under orders, fighting for our lives. You did what anybody else would, there’s no shame in that.” John promised, “And I imagine, as assassins, they weren’t very nice people.”

“No... Mrs Hudson’s was incompetent; he was using the complete wrong angle for a hit when I found him.” Sherlock leant against John’s shoulder again, the two sharing a small smile.

Doctor Hardwick look slightly confused at the exchange, and ever so slightly worried too.

“It’s an in joke, from their first case together. John shot a taxi driver, who was trying to poison Sherlock; they had a small joke that the man was a terrible driver, using a very bad route to get to the would-be murder scene.” I explained to her, feeling far more in control of the situation when I was the one with the information.

“Ah... They were joking about shooting serial killers from their first case?” Doctor Hardwick raised an eyebrow.

“Yes. They share a similar morbid sense of humour.” I nodded, watching my brother take a few moments to lean on his best friend.

For a minute, I thought back to the young man Sherlock had once been. Rake thin, hated by nearly every single person he came in contact with and yet still desperate for attention, for someone to care and be his friend. I had been convinced for years that he would never have a friend in his life, and that he would die young, probably out on a case, while completely alone. That his funeral would have only been me, Mummy and Daddy. But then, Lestrade came along, and Mrs Hudson, and Miss Hooper too. They had been good friends to Sherlock, but never quite reached his wavelength.

And then there had been John, who limped into my brother’s life by accident. A man filled with contradictions, who stood up to me, had a strong moral complex, and actually half understood my little brother. He understood Sherlock in an instant, more than anybody else had. He bothered to praise his deductions, bothered to talk to him and get to know him, instead of running scared in the face of his intellect. John had gone on to do something amazing, he’d saved my brother’s life and joked about it minutes later, normalised the situation almost completely. Now he was doing it again, somehow, the normal John Watson never ceased to amaze me, and that was an incredibly hard thing to manage.

John had to leave a while later, after Sherlock had calmed down, so I sought him out before he left, waiting for him at the front doors.

“So, think we did well there? I think we did well.” John pulled on his coat, looking reasonably proud of himself.

“Quite. It was an eye opener, at the least.” I agreed.

“You can say that again. I had no idea that he’d done all of that for us, makes me feel like even more of a dick for all the shit I pulled when he first came back. If I’d have known, I wouldn’t have been angry at him at all.” John gave me an apologetic look.

“Of course not, I don’t think anybody could be angry at somebody else for saving them from a sniper bullet.” I let him wince at the mention.

“Guess we’re even then.” John shrugged, uncomfortable with the conversation.

“That you are.” I agreed again, “John, when you first saved my brother’s life, I had one of two thoughts of you. You would either be the making of Sherlock, or make him worse than ever, somehow you’ve managed to do both in the last few years.” I wanted to thank him for doing so much right now in this situation, “Try to keep on making him, not making him worse.” Came out instead.

“I’ll do my best Mycroft.” John seemed to get the message, saving me the embarrassment of trying to explain myself.

“Good. Back to Baker Street for you then, there will be lots more to talk about in the future.” I ushered him out, before the conversation turned emotional or something equally as horrid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments/kudos! It means so much to hear what you guys think of this!


	187. Chapter 187

186 Sherlock's POV

After John left, I didn't bother moving from my sensory room, feeling too exhausted to try. That conversation, it had taken a lot out of me, more than I could have imagined if I was honest. I wasn't even sure what happened in the middle of that explanation, I’d felt like I was back in the middle of my time away, not knowing if John was still alive, praying that he was. I’d clung onto him like it was the only thing I could do to make sure he _stayed_ alive, while also reminding myself that he was really there, like I’d wanted for so long.

And, if I was being honest, our conversation had made me feel a bit better. Guilt still sat in my chest, weighing on my lungs, but it wasn't quite _as_ bad as it was before. Because John didn't blame me, he knew I had done what I had to do to survive, that I had done those terrible things to save him, Mrs Hudson and Lestrade. He’d been right too, the people I killed, they had been bad people, and maybe they didn't deserve a bullet to the brain, time in prison may have been better, but I had had to do it to save all of our lives. It had been kill or be killed, I’d had no choice, especially as I had been under orders at the time too.

I had still ended lives though, too many of them. Cut so many lives dead, all in the name of self preservation, and the preservation of my friends. So _many_ lives cut short because of me, so many families destroyed, all by my hand. Then again, how many lives had the people I killed destroyed? How many had they beaten, tortured and killed before me? How many had they sold drugs too, how many had they trafficked into slavery or whatever else they could? By killing them, I’d given their victims justice in a way, and stopped more lives from getting ruined. So technically it was a good thing.

Yet I still felt this guilt in my chest, felt like a monster for doing this. I’d never killed anyone before this mission, sure I had beaten a few up, and watched John kill a few more, but I’d never been the one to pull the trigger. It felt different to be the one to pull the trigger, to be the direct cause of death, even when it was necessary...

I had another nightmare that night, even though I was in my sensory room. I dreamt I was shooting down that last team in Serbia, and just as I turned to leave in a dead man’s coat, the coat’s owner had grabbed my leg and tried to kill me again. He’d spat angry words like ‘psychopath’ and ‘monster’ in Serbian as his hand wrapped around my throat, the other reaching for my gun. I’d shot him in the stomach, but all that had done was cover me in more of his blood.

I’d woken up screaming after he shot me in the head; Loki had turned the light on at the same time, before rushing over to me to lick my face until I calmed down. My sensory room had never given me a nightmare before. All my nightmares had happened in my bedroom, but never here, not in this safe place. It scared me to think that now I was having nightmares here too, where things were supposed to be safe and calm, the bad thoughts not getting in as much as before.

“It’s because you’ve been thinking about your mission solidly for weeks now. We’ve been going through your experiences of each kill over and over every therapy session, and you also had your heart to heart with John. The memories have been lying close to the surface, so as you slept, you turned those memories into a nightmare.” Hardwick explained when I told her the next day, after she had asked why I looked so tired.

“But, but I thought I was getting _better_ at this. I thought I was getting better with all these memories.” I had thought I was, I thought I wasn't feeling as guilty, that the things I had done weren’t affecting me as much because I was talking about it.

“You are getting better Sherlock, really. It’s just that, it’s just that things aren’t as simple as that. Talking as much as we have about what you did is a good therapeutic technique, but you can’t expect all those feelings to go away straight away, you have to give yourself time for the dust to settle.” Hardwick sighed.

“But I don’t want to remember anymore, the emotions were _going away_ a bit, I don’t want them back again.” My head hurt so much with all these thoughts, I thought they were going to stop after I’d let it all out! John had forgiven me, he’d said that he didn't blame me, he understood my actions, why couldn't I do that?! Why couldn't I just _forget_ about this and move on like he did?

“I’m sorry Sherlock, that isn’t really how this works. You don’t just forget and get to live guilt free forever; those guilty feelings will still be there, no matter what you do. But by talking about it, we’re normalising what you did, and making you see that you had no other choice in the matter. It’s _lessening_ your guilt, not getting rid of it.” Hardwick apologised, why couldn't she take it all away?! I wanted it all gone!

“I want it gone though! I can’t... I can’t deal with all of this emotion! I don’t want to deal with it all, I want it gone!” I wanted it gone, I wanted it all gone. My head hurt, it was hard to breathe, I didn't want to feel like a psychopath anymore!

“I’m really sorry Sherlock, but I can’t do that for you. I can only help you feel better about everything that’s happened to you, I can’t make it all go away. I’m so sorry that I can’t do more.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments/kudos, they're getting me through a frankly awful essay that's testing my patience and my sanity!


	188. Chapter 188

187 John's POV                                  

Mycroft was _thanking_ me now... Okay, that was not normal... Though I thought I could let him off, under the circumstances. We were all feeling a little off at the moment, what with everything Sherlock was going through. His emotions seemed to be knocking us for six too, maybe because we were hearing for the first time exactly what he did, the pressure he had been under, and how that had affected him.

I knew I was feeling a little off after that, knowing that Sherlock had _saved my life_ that day on the rooftop. I hadn’t had a clue; I hadn’t known he had jumped to save me. Moriarty had put snipers out to kill me, Mrs Hudson and Lestrade, and told Sherlock to jump or we’d all die. To die to save us, or watch us die in turn. That must have been _awful_ to experience, to have to go through with it, even if it was slightly planned in advance. To go through all that, and then to go on that mission... Sherlock was so much stronger than I thought.

That first year we spent together, I saw an ice man, an impenetrable, indestructible man, unable to be harmed by anything. Then as we had gotten to know each other, I’d seen the soft underbelly, seen that Sherlock did have emotions and that he was human underneath it all. And not just human, the most human, human I had ever known. After he ‘died’ I’d still remembered that man, the man underneath the facade, the one who I thought had committed suicide so he didn't face his entire life being destroyed. That had been shattered when I first saw him alive again, thinking he was a complete bastard for faking his death and not even telling me, for a while after I moved back in I still half thought it too.

But I understood now, I really understood. I understood why Sherlock jumped, why he did what he had to do, why he was so traumatised when he came back. He’d gone through _hell,_ completely by himself, without a single person to tell him that everything would turn out okay. How many times did he think he was going to die? How many times did he get close to dying?

If he had died out there, I wouldn’t have known. None of us would have known. We wouldn’t have known his sacrifice to us, or that he died saving our lives. Would one of us been randomly shot dead by a returning sniper if he had failed? If he hadn’t have taken them down, would they have returned to finish the job? It didn't bear thinking about...

I got to 221b to find Mrs Hudson tidying up the flat. _She could have been dead. If Sherlock hadn’t done what he had done, she would be dead._ I had to rush over and hug her close, alive and well, because of Sherlock and his huge sacrifice.

“John, John what’s wrong? Has something happened?” Mrs Hudson hugged back, sounding incredibly worried.

“No, nothing’s happened. Just had a long day, that’s all.” I squeezed her a bit tighter, relishing that I could.

“Long day with Sherlock? Did something happen to him?” Mrs Hudson pulled back to look me in the eye.

“Not recently no. We just, we had a long discussion about some important things and... And I felt like I needed a hug.” I explained as best I could, I couldn't exactly tell her what I had talked about with Sherlock could I? It was private, between the two of us, though it did concern her too. But it was Sherlock’s place to tell her what happened, not mine. He had to be the one to tell her why he did what he did, if he ever wanted to. I doubted he’d tell anyone but me, he wasn't one for trying to guilt trip others, or bragging about anything but his deductions at crime scenes.

“Finally get some things out in the open then did you?” I nodded, “Good, you two needed it after all that misunderstanding.” Mrs Hudson smiled.

“Yeah, we did. We’re getting there.” I knew Sherlock wouldn’t be magically fixed of his guilt, but it was a start at the least. He was making steps towards accepting his actions, and I really hoping that talking with me had helped. At least he knew now that I didn't blame him for what he did, and wasn't judging him either; I understood exactly where he was coming from.

“I’m glad about that dear; Sherlock needs you more than he wants to admit.” Mrs Hudson went back to tidying.  

“If you say so.” I starting putting things away for her, save her hip some pain.

“And you need him too. You can’t say you don’t, because you do.” Mrs Hudson sounded like she was going to go into a small lecture on how we needed each other.

“Suppose I do.” More than she knew, more than anybody knew. We had all needed Sherlock, and he had delivered, without any of us knowing it.

He’d saved us, and come back so damaged, but determined to make it look like he wasn't. He had done his absolute best to keep us from everything he had suffered in those years, keeping up appearances when he could, doing his best at crime scenes, I was still in a small amount of shock over how much he had tried to hide from us. All those nightmares, all that guilt, all that pain and he’d kept it all inside him. Tried to lock it up and keep it under wraps, so none of us knew what he was going through.

I wanted to hug him again, tell him over and over that he shouldn’t have suffered through that by himself, that he should have just told us that he wasn't well. At least when I had come back from war I had a therapist, what had Sherlock had? Me, shouting at him and treating him like crap. I wanted to apologise for that, I hadn’t understood, but I did now. I understood what he’d done for me, and I shouldn’t have ever been so damn rude to him. I resolved that I would at least try to apologise the next day, to tell him that I was sorry for all the hurt and pain I caused him by being a dick.

But I didn't get the chance; I walked into Sherlock’s living space the next day to find him curled up in his normal chair, looking miserable.

“They didn't go away; I wanted them to go away.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for not updating yesterday! I'm in the middle of Christmas prep and it's exhausting, I was so busy I had no time to update!


	189. Chapter 189

188 Sherlock's POV

I had wanted these bloody nightmares _gone,_ and they hadn’t gone, talking was supposed to help! I thought, I thought that telling John and talking about what I did would help! I thought I’d stop having nightmares, at the least stop having these damn nightmares. I didn't want to remember anymore, it _hurt._

“What didn't go away?” John hesitated at the door, before stepping into the room, very slowly.

“The... The nightmares. They didn't go away; talking about it should have made them go away.” I wanted to _sleep_ properly! I wanted to sleep and get through the day without thinking of all this crap! This guilt still sat heavily on my chest; I wanted it to leave me alone. _Not so much of a sociopath now, are you?_

“Ah, it doesn’t... It doesn’t _quite_ work like that I’m afraid. It’s a more... I guess talking makes it a bit more _normal_ if that makes sense. Nightmares kinda stay around, though they lessen after a while, when you’ve adjusted a bit more.” John sighed, coming over to put his hand on my shoulder. Not squeezing, just resting there, it felt good, the simple contact feeling much better than it had done in the past.

“Talking was supposed to _help_ though.” I sighed, I had pinned so much hope on talking about this and making the guilt, nightmares and all of it _going away._ How hadn’t that not worked?

“It takes more than a week I’m afraid, but it does happen eventually. Trust me, I’ve been there myself, it takes a lot of time, patience and a lot of adjusting to get there. Not all of us get swept up by genius consulting detectives and given everything they need to feel normal again.” John smiled, squeezing my shoulder.

“I guess. Somehow I don’t think a crime scene will do me much good right now.” All that blood and seeing dead bodies again... not right now. Maybe some other time, when I wasn't struggling with nightmares about _murdering_ people.

“Yeah, maybe not right now. Some other time, possibly when it’s warmer, Lestrade’s always moaning about how cold it is at crime scenes at this time of year.” John thankfully didn't mention exactly _why_ I wasn't going near crime scenes right now. I wasn't even looking at case files, not knowing how I would react to even _pictures_ of corpses. If I couldn't even talk about what I had done, I didn't know how I would react at a crime scene. Currently, I wasn't looking forward to finding out either.

“He should wear thicker clothes then.” I tried joking, changing the subject.

“Says you, Mr ‘I will wear a suit and huge coat whatever the weather.’” John laughed, I smiled a bit.

“I like it, saves time getting dressed in the morning, and it looks good.” It was what I was used to; I wasn't changing my usual outfit unless I absolutely had to. _Like when you’re on the run._ Or in disguise to tail a suspect.

“Unless you’re going to Buckingham Palace.” John commented.

“That was _one_ time. You make it sound like I’m always round there in a sheet.” I rolled my eyes, feeling my muscles relax a bit as the conversation distracted me from my previous melancholy.

“Once is enough... I still have that ashtray you stole by the way.” John surprised me mildly.

“Really?” He could not have kept that all this time.

“Course I did. I couldn't exactly throw it out, and it was quite funny. I feel like I should bring it here, rub it in Mycroft’s face, see if he has a fit or something.” John teased, nudging me in the side.

“Do it. I’d love to see his cool facade crack for a minute.” It would have certainly cheered me up a bit.

“I’ll see what I can do.” John agreed, before the two of us fell into a bit of awkward silence, neither of us sure on what to say next.

_Great, you’re getting boring with all your guilt shit._

“Er... Sorry... for this. I’m just... This week hasn’t been the best.” I didn't want to be so _down_ right now, but I couldn't get myself out of it. With all this stuff going on in therapy, and with these nightmares, I wasn't feeling all too _happy_ at this moment. I wanted to be, I wanted to be up and ready for anything, to greet John with violin concertos, to tell him about experiments I was performing. But I couldn't bring myself to do it currently, not with all this going through my head.

“It’s okay, therapy is shit and puts you through the ringer, I’ve been there. I was a right bastard for quite a while if I’m being honest with you. Harry nearly killed me every time I saw her because I was a dick after talking to Ella about the crap I’d been through. It’ll eventually work out though, it always does.” John promised, looking away as he did so, probably too awkward to actually look at me as he said it.

“Still, I’m... I’m a bit more emotional than I thought I would be.” I apologised, playing with Loki’s tail.

“No problem with that. Its therapy, it brings up stuff you’ve repressed for a long while.” John shrugged it off.

“Turns out I’m not exactly the sociopath I thought I was.” I admitted, hating admitting it, but I couldn't exactly not admit to it. I hadn’t ever shown this much emotion in _years,_ and never in front of John.

“I know, nothing wrong with that.” John shrugged again, _he knows._ He couldn't possibly know that I was on the Autistic Spectrum, no damn way. I hadn’t even _hinted_ at that, I’d done my best to pretend I was anything but that in the past. Even now I hadn’t shown him, I was sure... he hadn’t figured it out, had he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll update again next Monday, because it's Christmas day on Friday and so I'm going to be busy for the next few days. Happy holidays everyone!


	190. Chapter 190

189 Sherlock's POV

John gave no indication that he knew anything other than the fact that I wasn't a sociopath, and I didn't press him to figure out exactly what he knew either. I didn't want him to know, not really. He wasn't... I just didn't want him to know, at least not yet. Maybe later on. I wouldn’t tell anybody else though, not Lestrade or Mrs Hudson or anybody, only John, if I had to that was.

It wasn't that I was _embarrassed_ or _ashamed_ as such, I just... I would rather have people thinking I was a sociopath than autistic; it made things easier on my end. There weren’t any annoying clichéd ideas surrounding sociopathy, and it got me listened to. In the past, being autistic just got people talking to me like I was stupid, almost patting me on the head for the simplest of things. At least if I was thought of as a sociopath, I wasn't treated like a child, and got to carry out my work as I pleased without others acting like it was incredible that I was functioning without some sort of carer.

Not to say that Lestrade or Mrs Hudson would necessarily change how they treated me, but... Mrs Hudson mothered me enough as it was, and Lestrade was basically already my handler, I’d rather not reinforce those ideas on them further. John though, I didn't think he would react so badly to it, he... he understood more than most I guessed I could say. At the least, he understood me more than most did... and he did have suspicions. I’d overheard him talking to Lestrade while we were at Baskerville, at the least he _suspected._ If those suspicions were confirmed, I didn't think he would react too badly. Hopefully.

But I wasn't going to tell him yet, not unless I had to. There was so much of me being exposed right now, so much being watched and analysed, I needed to keep _something_ to myself, at least for a while. I needed some sort of privacy; I was so used to nobody knowing anything about me that this whole situation was making my skin crawl. Hardwick was looking so much into my psyche, and John was finding out more about my emotions than I planned, it felt _weird_ and _wrong._

At least John wasn't planning on making me talk about my emotions, not unless I wanted to. Instead, he proved a good distraction, talking to me about the things everyone else was getting up to, getting me to explain more about composers and scientific procedure. He even remembered to bring the ash tray to wind up Mycroft one day; the look on my brother’s face had been priceless. For just a single moment, he’d looked completely wrong-footed and shocked, sort of like he had done when I’d turned up at Buckingham Palace in nothing but a sheet. The look had set me off laughing more than I had done in months, lifting my spirits more than I thought possible, just when I needed it most.

And slowly, I started to feel better. Even though I was still talking through my violent mission with Hardwick every day in therapy, with John’s distractions, it got better. I started to notice that the guilt was lifting; I wasn't focusing all day on the damage I had caused. The memories still floated through my mind at times, but I could deal with it better. Hardwick taught me to think of it less as _murder_ and more as _doing what I had to do to live._ At first it was hard to think of it like that, because shooting someone in the head like a sniper didn't exactly feel like I was saving my life. Eventually though, I got the hang of it.

I wasn't directly saving my life, but I was saving the lives of the people I loved most in the world, I was keeping them safe. And when I was taking down Moriarty’s network, I was still doing it to save lives. I was shutting down drug and gun runners, stopping people getting access to drugs, stopping them getting shot, stopping more from becoming runners for the gangs. When I had to kill, I was doing it to save my life, if I didn't kill; I was going to get killed. I had had to continue the mission, to keep everyone safe, to return home. Killing was the unfortunate bi-product, but it wasn't something I should be completely ashamed of. It was okay to feel guilty, but I shouldn’t let it consume me as a whole, as I _had_ to do what I did. I felt myself relax as my thoughts changed the memories. Not by much, but I definitely felt a little bit freer, which was what I needed. I slept a bit better with the relaxation, not by much, but it was _something._ And something was so much better than nothing.

I was waking up feeling more refreshed nowadays, not having to scramble for the iPad on the bedside table to get that my friends were still alive, drenched in sweat, gunshots and the sounds of bones breaking echoing through my head. I actually managed to get up at a more leisurely pace, even sometimes indulging myself by eating breakfast in my pyjamas. Only some days though, it still felt weird to do that, like I was going too far out of routine.

What I still couldn't do was shower in peace. Showering still caused problems, along with a lot of other things. Having my arm touched in the wrong way still made fear fly through me, my body hunching down into attack mode. Showering still gave me flashbacks to being water boarded. Such simple things, yet I couldn't stop the memories flooding back in again. Even with Loki there, reminding me exactly where I was, I couldn't shake the flashbacks. They rushed in and took over, sometimes leaving me a shivering wreck when they got too bad.

Showering was the worst though, definitely the absolute worst. Getting anywhere near the shower, or the bath, brought back so much. Stole my breath, transported me back to that hole in Korea, that cell in Serbia. It was all right there, in the forefront of my mind, every time I went near the bathroom. And I had no idea on how to make it stop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, Christmas got in the way and I've had 5 assignments kicking my ass. I've got to finish off two and write another one by the 11th of January, and I'm back at uni on the 8th so as you can imagine, I'm rushing things a bit! Fic writing has gone a bit by the wayside for a while, but I should be able to update when I'm supposed to! Hope you all had a good Christmas and that you all have a very happy new year!


	191. Chapter 191

190 Sherlock's POV                               

Getting up in the morning, I trudged to the bathroom, doing literally everything I could do to avoid showering. It felt like the object was staring at me, which was frankly ridiculous as showers couldn't stare. It was an inanimate object, not a living thing. Stupid really, absolutely ludicrous. But why couldn't I stop feeling like that sense of it watching me every time I stepped into the bathroom? The water wasn't even running, but it was just _glaring_ at me, feeling me with dread.

_You’re being ridiculous. Get in the damn shower and take it like a man, you know by now that you’re not going to get killed._

That was right. I was alone. Only had Loki in here with me. I should have been fine; it was a shower, where I was in control. I was in complete control of what was going on, I shouldn’t be having this panic. And yet here I was, hands shaking in fear of getting into that shower, the water falling over my face, the feeling of drowning, thinking I was going to die.

I shuddered; maybe I’d skip the shower today. But I couldn't do that because Hardwick and John were coming round, I had to look presentable for them. Even on my darkest days, where I didn't bother to put on my usual suit, I always showered. I didn't just _skip_ showering; I never had while completely sober. _But getting in that shower._ Fucking hell it was a shower, not a bloody torture device! _Could be though, a simple barrel of water was used in the past._

That was in the past. Not right now, not in Mycroft’s house, Loki by my side, while I wasn't on a mission. I could do this; I had done this every other day I had been here, I could do it again. Nothing happened in showers, it was just a shower, not a death trap. I wasn't going to die; I wasn't going to die...

“Stay right here Loki, don’t go anywhere.” I bent down to rub Loki’s head. In turn, Loki gave my face a lick, like he was telling me that he understood. He should do by now, he did this with me daily.

“Right. Shower time, nothing dangerous, just a simple shower.” I told myself, slowly stripping off and getting into the cubicle, dread making it feel like my insides were twisting.

“I can do this, I can do this.” I whispered to myself in a mantra, “I can do this. I’m at Mycroft’s house, I’m safe. I’m home, I’m home.” I turned on the shower, warm water hitting me in the face straight away, taking my breath away.

_“Why are you here? Tell us now!” My captor growled, his hand gripping my hair so tight it felt like he was pulling it out by the roots._

_“I was lost! I was lost and I found your base! I was trying to keep warm!” I told him Serbian, begging he believed it._

_“Liar!” My head was shoved into the water, not allowing me an inch of room to move. Water rushed up my nose and down my mouth, filling my lungs and stomach. Air was forced out in bubbles while I desperately struggled._

_My strength was leaving again, my body weakening further from lack of food and sleep. The water started to blur further, my arms slackening in their bonds, everything starting to fade when I was yanked back up, body automatically gasping for air._

The air was knocked from my lungs as I thought of it, almost knocking me to my knees. I had been so _close_ to dying that time, so damn close. The Serbian had pushed me under so many times I actually fell unconscious at one point. The last thought I had had before I lost consciousness was begging for my body to give up and die, so it would all _stop._

“ _Fuck,_ fuck, fuck, _fuck._ ” I swore, leaning against the opposite wall from the water stream, hoping it kept me upright this time. This was hell, what was I doing with this? Having a bloody flashback from a shower, what would I do if it rained? Avoid going outside? I usually lived in _London;_ rain was an almost daily occurrence. How could I possibly avoid it? _Shit._

“Sherlock, are you okay in there?” What the hell was Mycroft doing outside the door?!

“Mycroft?! Go away, I’m showering!” Mycroft shouldn’t have been outside the bloody door, he could hear anything!

“Just checking on you brother mine. You’re late for breakfast.” Mycroft answered, sounding like he was trying to be high and mighty. _He’s up to something._ My brother was _always_ up to something.

“Like I care about breakfast. Go away!” He couldn't stand outside, I was trying to not have a complete panic attack right now, he needed to _leave_ before he heard something!

“Shall I leave you the breakfast things out then?” Could he just bloody _leave_ now?

“Go away! I don’t care!” He just had to leave _now,_ right this second. I didn't want him hearing me panicking! Anybody but Mycroft, anybody but my brother, having a panic attack over a shower of all things. _If he didn't think you were pathetic enough._

“If you wish brother mine.” Mycroft walked off.

What the _hell_ had that been all about?!                    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, a very happy new year to you all! Secondly, happy new Sherlock day! Anybody seeing it in the cinema like me?


	192. Chapter 192

191 Mycroft's POV

I left Sherlock’s room, certain in my assessment of Sherlock’s showering activities. I had been suspicious of his behaviour recently, noticing that he was several shades paler during breakfast times, and his hands shook infinitesimally while he ate. But this only happened when he had showered _before_ breakfast, if it was afterwards, then he was mostly fine, closed off, but fine for the most part.

Seeing that had made me suspicious, thinking that Sherlock’s flashbacks were either getting worse, or taking the forefront of his mind. I spoke to Doctor Hardwick to warn her about it, but she wasn't getting much out of my brother. So now I took matters into my own hands, deciding to investigate myself. Now I was sure that my little brother was still having flashbacks from the second he was surrounded by water.

It would have to be sorted in his therapy, so stimulus like that would not affect him as much. He couldn't spend his life being scared of large bodies of water, what if he had a case near the Thames? He couldn't avoid places like that forever; it would be terrible for his detective work...

Eventually, Sherlock made his way into the main kitchen, fully dressed, but in the same shaky, pale state he ended up in after a scare. A normal person wouldn’t have noticed the changes, but I could easily, used to Sherlock’s normal state.

“At least you’re dressed today; those ratty pyjamas are a disgrace.” I didn't have anything else to say, unsure if I should bring up his problems or not. Judging by his reaction to knowing that I was outside the door, possibly best to keep quiet on that.

“Whatever, they’re comfy.” Sherlock grumbled, picking at his breakfast.

“Hence why you haven’t acquired a new pair in the last ten years.” I couldn't wrap my head round why he liked the ten pairs of pyjamas he had worn religiously for the past ten years. He wouldn’t wear any others, even when I found identical pairs for him. He liked those specific pairs, in the same identical colours, all t-shirts inside out, absolutely identical.

“There is nothing wrong with that. Not all of us can be bothered to change our wardrobes every year.” Sherlock surprised me by not adding a comment about my weight, that would have been a good time for him to add in a sly jab at my diet or something, but he didn't.

Sherlock had made some great steps towards getting back to himself, but it looked like there was still a way to go.

“Not that you can’t afford it.” I sighed, acting that I was annoyed, more than actually being annoyed. Sherlock had his own quirks; he was more than allowed to have them. I may not understand why he liked things in that certain way, he just did.

“I’d rather spend the money on chemicals.” Sherlock poked at his cereal half heartedly.

“Obviously.” I rolled my eyes, “Eat your breakfast, before it congeals.”

Sherlock grumbled something that sounded vaguely like ‘alright Mum’ but I wasn't completely sure. _At least he’s not still completely adverse to sarcasm._ I’d hate it if Sherlock was still completely devoid of things like his sarcasm, that was part of what made him who he was. At least that was coming back, I took that as a very good sign that he was feeling better.

Eventually, he ate his food, before getting up and heading off to do whatever it was he wanted to do to entertain himself before his therapy session. Usually he read, or played with his violin, still no experiments. I’d have to remind him that there were chemicals available for him to play with at some point...

I stood too, heading towards my office to phone Doctor Hardwick and tell her what I had discovered. I would have done it as soon as Sherlock had left the room, but decided that that would be a bad idea, as he may have overheard me talking. Sherlock didn't like plans being made behind his back, and actively rallied against them, it was better to hide things like this from him so he didn't suspect anything too much.

“Thank you for telling me Mycroft, I suspected something but it’s nice to have it confirmed. I’ll start steering sessions towards sorting this out today.” Doctor Hardwick sighed, from her voice alone I could tell that she had already planned to sort this out and didn't need reminding. I wasn't about to apologise or even acknowledge it, I wanted my brother to come out of therapy completely back to his normal self, I didn't want a single problem missed. If that meant reminding Sherlock’s therapist of issues and investigating what was wrong with him myself then so be it.

“You’re hovering again Sir.” Anthea reminded me when I hung up.

“Just making sure things get done properly.” I answered, setting about getting some paperwork done. The MPs were misbehaving again and saying the complete wrong thing, I had to sort out some damage control.

“Of course Sir, but I’m sure the therapist knows what she’s doing.” Anthea answered, stopping typing to look me in the eyes.

“She has experience, but it pays to be thorough with everything concerning Sherlock’s therapy. He hasn’t had the best experience in the past with mental health professionals.” I hadn’t let the last group get away with their treatment of my little brother. He didn't take being locked in padded cells with no stimulation very well, especially when all he had done was open his mouth at the wrong time while in the throes of drug withdrawal.  

“He’ll be fine, with or without your assistance.” Anthea promised, “I think he’d be more grateful if you spent time with him instead of spying. He misses you.”

“Now that I doubt highly.” Sherlock didn't miss me, he preferred to argue with me and act like I was one of the worst people he had ever encountered.

“You would be surprised Sir, you were close once.” Anthea insisted.

“Yes when he was a baby who could just about sit up by himself.” I hadn’t been the best brother to him when he started showing signs of Autism. I hadn’t understood him before he was diagnosed, all the those times calling him stupid didn't exactly endear me to him.

“You’re still his big brother; some time together could do you some good.” Anthea advised, sometimes I really did not like how well she could make things like this make perfect sense.

“We will see if I get time to visit him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm afraid I may have to change my update days guys! My uni timetable is now calling me into uni from 9-5 on a Friday, and because it takes me on average two hours to get there, I'm going to up at half 6 in the morning and not returning until half seven at the earliest! I think I'm going to be too tired to even think straight after all that so I may be changing update days to Sunday/Tuesday/Thursday, but I will have to let you know after I've seen tired I'm going to be!


	193. Chapter 193

192 Sherlock's POV

“Sherlock, I think it’s time we took a break from talking about fighting for your life,” _thank God for that,_ “And moved onto some of the other things that happened while you were out on mission.” _Shit._

“Nothing much else happened. I travelled from country to country under cover, slept rough a lot of the time and mostly laid low. There isn’t much to talk about.” I shrugged it off, having an idea of where this was going and _really_ not wanting it to.

“There are the reasons behind why you were fighting to save your life on an almost daily basis, what those people did to you hasn’t left you that well off.” Hardwick sighed, she was talking about the whole shower thing, I could just _tell_ she was.

“Is this coming from what Mycroft has told you? Because this morning I was shouting at him to go away because _I was showering_ and I would have really enjoyed some time to do that by myself without him standing on the other side of the door.” Bloody Mycroft, sticking his overly large nose in where it didn't belong.

“Mycroft didn't tell me anything.” Hardwick clearly lied, I saw right through that excuse.

“You’re lying. It’s not a coincidence that he ‘visited’ and now you’re talking to me about this, he called you and tattled.” How very like my brother, always spying and trying to fix everything. He couldn't let anything go on without interference, and he’d been rather quiet recently, it was about time he stuck his nose in again.

“I will admit to him phoning me this morning with concerns, but I was already planning on talking to you about this. You’ve clearly been affected by your life threatening experiences, and now they’re interfering with your life.” Hardwick answered cooly, she was getting better with battling my defensive nature, bugger. _You won’t be able to hide for much longer, soon everything will be explained._

“They were _life threatening_ experiences, what do you expect?” I tried to fight back a bit more, I really didn't want to talk about Serbia or Korea, not about the water boarding, or the metal pipe, or the blow torch, _any_ of it.

“For you to be affected of course, but you’re still struggling with certain stimulus, even after a year of safety.” Hardwick replied, sympathetic eyes coming into play again.

“I’m managing just fine.” I wasn't talking about it. I really, really was not talking about it. I had spent _weeks_ talking about fighting for my life; I’d rather not also talk about why I was fighting for my life and why it was still affecting me now!

“No you’re not; you’re having panic attacks Sherlock. That’s not managing, that’s suffering.” Hardwick sighed sympathetically.

“That’s not suffering, actually going through being captured, _that’s_ suffering! This is nothing compared to that!” I was fine now, I was bloody _safe,_ a few flashbacks were annoying but I could manage them!

“Having flashbacks of the violence done to you still counts as suffering Sherlock, you’re reliving being beaten and _tortured_ every time you see certain stimulus.” Hardwick argued.

“And I’m dealing with it! I can shower just fine! Having some memories is nothing!” I could deal with some bloody memories, it was a freaking _memory,_ it was unpleasant but I managed!

“I still don’t want you to be dealing with memories like this; you deserve to be able to shower without being assaulted with memories of being water boarded.” Hardwick knew nothing of what happened out there, how did she know that?!

“Who said anything about water boarding?!” I had certainly never said anything! _Mycroft has opened his fat mouth again,_ how the _fuck_ was that man so good at his fucking job when he couldn't keep a secret to save his life?!

“Sherlock, breathe and calm down. Would you like to go to your sensory room?” Hardwick asked, what the hell?!

“Answer the damn question, I didn't say anything about being water boarded, where did you even get the idea that I was water boarded from?” I was sure I hadn’t said anything, certainly not recently! I hadn’t mentioned anything about that!

“You’re having trouble when confronted with putting your head under water; it’s not hard to make the leap, especially not in this profession. Now would you like to go to your sensory room to calm down?” Hardwick explained, voice level and calm.

“No I do not want to go to my sensory room! Why would I even want to go there?” I made Loki whine at me, his head butting against my hand in an attempt to get me to stroke him.

“I’m just suggesting it as you are currently very agitated Sherlock.” Hardwick answered.

“Well anybody would be when you suggest to someone that they got _water boarded._ Because I didn't get water boarded.” _Liar!_ I didn't want to think about it, I didn't want to remember! I had to deny it so I didn't have to remember! I was coping, I was coping just fine, I didn't want to remember what happened out there!

**_The water pushed through every orifice, I couldn't breathe, I couldn't breathe!_ **

“Sherlock, calm down, you’re starting to hyperventilate.” Hardwick stood up, trying to come closer.

“Don’t come near me!” I shouted, backing away, I didn't want to be here! I couldn't do this, I couldn't do this! Not right here, not right now! I couldn't remember, she couldn't make me remember!

**_I couldn't fight it, arms held me still under the water, not an inch of room to move! Water was everywhere, I needed air! I needed air!_ **

“Okay, okay, I’m staying away. But come on, breathe. Just breathe for me, and then we’ll get to your sensory room okay? We’ll go there and we won’t talk about this, but first I need you to breathe.” Hardwick was talking but I couldn't do it, I couldn't breathe!

**_The only sounds were of splashing water and of bubbles of my precious air popping as they escaped me as I struggled. I couldn't breathe! I was going to die, oh God I was going to die!_ **

A tongue was licking at my cheek, but I didn't register it, everything was going black, the room spinning wildly. I couldn't breathe, like I couldn't breathe under the water, oh God it felt like I was under water and I couldn't breathe but I needed to breathe there was no air I needed air I needed air!

“Sherlock no, don’t faint, don’t faint! Shit!” Arms caught me and lowered me to the floor, just as everything faded into black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments/kudos, I'll let you know by Sunday if I have to change update days as I currently don't know how Friday is going to be. Currently though, judging from last year's tiredness levels on a half day, I'm going to say that I'm going to be changing update days!


	194. Chapter 194

193 Sherlock's POV                             

As I gained consciousness, I could hear music... classical music... _Claire De Lune..._ why was I...? Oh, panic attack, I passed out, someone must have brought me in here.

“Hey Sherlock, you’re in your sensory room, I moved you as I thought it the best place to calm you down.” Hardwick spoke first, _great_ she was still here.

“I got that, no need to explain.” I wasn't bloody stupid, there was no need to explain things like that to me, I did understand that panic attacks equalled trips to sensory rooms.

“Just making sure you knew, so you didn't get worried by a scenery change.” Hardwick shrugged, at least she wasn't being condescending over this, it wasn't like I had passed out in front of her before, “Sorry for giving you a panic attack, I didn't think you would react so badly to the topic of conversation, if I had, I would have gone about it completely differently.”

“Whatever. Get why I didn't want to talk about it now?” I sat up, feeling exhausted, but fighting to stay upright. I wasn't going to make more of an idiot out of myself today, or show that this had affected me that much. I was _fine_ damn it.  A little shaky but that would go soon. I didn't need mollycoddling or anything, just a change in topic.

“I do, but I’m afraid that isn’t going to stop me talking it through with you. Clearly what those people did to you has deeply affected you, and you need to have that sorted inside your head, like we’ve done with a lot of other things. But I won’t do it today, you’re exhausted, and I think you deserve a small break from therapy; we’ve been going at it for weeks with no let up... Tell you what, I’ll give you the day to calm down and have some time to yourself, and then we’ll start back up again bright and early tomorrow. I’ll let you start the conversation however you like too, and we’ll go at your pace.” Hardwick stood up, giving me a kind smile.

“I’m _fine_ though, I don’t need to talk through whatever happened out there, I can deal with it myself.” I answered, because I _could_ deal with it. I was dealing with it; I didn't need Hardwick poking her nose into all the stuff that happened.

“Sherlock you’ve proved several times that you can’t deal by yourself, you need help, which I’m here to provide.” Hardwick sighed, catching my disbelieving look, “You’re having panic attacks and flashbacks every time you _shower_ because of what happened to you. How do you expect to deal with this by yourself?”

“I am dealing; I ignore it and carry on.” I shrugged, that was how I dealt with things, it worked pretty damn well if you asked me.

“That’s not dealing with things, that’s ignoring the problem and hoping it’ll go away, and after a year of no let up I don’t think it’s going to go away without help.” Hardwick countered, she had a _small_ point.

“I’ll make it.” When I had complete control of my Mind Palace again, I would get everything under control. I would shove all these memories away and lock them up somewhere, and they would _stay_ there and everything would get better again. I would be able to do everything I needed to without issue. I just needed some help with the touch stuff and getting access to my Mind Palace again, everything else I could deal with by myself. I had done all of this by myself before, I could do it again, I was capable.

“Sherlock has it ever occurred to you that I am actually here to help you, not to antagonise or hurt you? Because every time I bring up a new topic in our sessions, you whack up your defences and I have to battle them down, it’s like you still don’t trust me, after I have proved over and over that I’m not actually going to be cruel to you, or treat you like a moronic child.” Hardwick pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Maybe I whack up defences because _I don’t want to talk about whatever you’ve brought up,_ ever thought of that?” I raised an eyebrow.

“Of course, but that doesn’t mean you get out of talking about it, it’s important that we work together to work through your problems. When I bring something up, I’m doing it in your best interest, and sometimes going with me on it will help. If you need a breather while we’re talking, I will allow you to have that, I can give you whole sessions out when it gets too much, or let us go someplace you feel comfortable to talk things through. I’m not going to force you to talk about something when you’re struggling with it, I’m not trying to traumatise you further, I’m trying to _help._ By getting defensive and refusing to talk, you’re making things worse for yourself and prolonging this entire thing.” Hardwick lectured, though with a kind tone, like she was trying to appeal to my logical brain.

“I understand that you’ve had some terrible experiences with therapists and mental health facilities in the past, and have dealt with doctors who really did not understand you, trying to ‘fix’ things about you that didn't need fixing. If I remember rightly one even decided that you weren’t on the Autistic Spectrum but were in fact a sociopath, and I understand that all of that is incredibly damaging. But I am _not_ those people, I’m not going to lock you up in isolation rooms or sedate you every time you get scared. I understand that you’re scared to talk about everything that happened to you on your mission, and I will give you leeway with it, but you also need to give me some leeway too. Trusting me to help you will get you through this so much quicker. So can you please at least try to trust me a little, it’ll make all of this a whole lot easier.” Hardwick sighed again, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Where the _hell_ did that come from?!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to uni for making me stupidly tired on a Friday thanks to freezing temperatures and twelve hour days due double lectures/travel time, I'm having to change update days. From now on I'll update on Sunday's, Tuesday's and Thursday's, sorry for the switch but I get so exhausted on a Friday that I can't think straight!


	195. Chapter 195

194 Sherlock's POV

I did trust Hardwick... I did... I just... Okay maybe I didn't trust her _fully._ She was a _therapist_ after all, I didn't trust them on principle, I didn't trust anybody who tried to get into my head. My brain didn't need others rooting around in there, and therapists _certainly_ shouldn’t be in there. There were dark things in there, things that should have _never_ been explored. Certainly not a _therapist_ who would interpret my thoughts weirdly and change everything round, diagnosing me with whatever they could to explain me away.

Even after Hardwick had proved herself to be nice and considerate, I couldn't fully _trust_ her. She was a bloody therapist, how could I trust a therapist? They nearly always proved themselves to be awful, untrusting, closed minded human beings. They _said_ they understood, but they never did. Who could understand what it was like to be a certified genius who couldn't stop seeing everything about everybody, who had Aspergers Syndrome on top of that? Nobody understood that, and nobody bothered to listen either, they all just labelled me as _wrong_ and a _sociopath_ or a _freak_ and didn't pay further attention.

I couldn't bring myself to trust Hardwick, not fully, even after all the time we had spent together. I just couldn't, therapists always rubbed me up the wrong way, especially when they were making me talk about things I _really_ couldn't talk about.

“I see that your therapist gave you a lot to think about.” Mycroft interrupted my thinking, like I needed _him_ to come in _now._

“Go away Mycroft, I’ve had enough lecturing for one day.” and not to mention being watched and analysed for a lifetime...

“I’m not here to lecture you.” Mycroft replied, like he ever wasn't around to lecture me, or force me into doing something I didn't want to do.

“Fine, spying on me then. I’m busy thinking, can you go away now?” I’d rather he left me to it; I wasn't exactly fond of my brother right now. Without him, certain topics wouldn’t have been brought up today and therefore I wouldn’t have just had a panic attack, or be sitting in this position again with so much more to think about. For once, I felt like I was _done_ thinking. At least about myself, I wasn't exactly keen on all these thoughts about me at the best of times.

“I think I’ll stay, I haven’t spent much time in here at all, I’d like to see how it works.” Mycroft actually sat on the mattress on the floor, which was rather surprising. He hadn’t sat on the floor since... I couldn't even remember the last time I’d seen my brother sit on anything but a chair.

“Go research it like you usually do. Leg work doesn’t suit you.” This was _my_ safe place; I’d rather he left me to it.

“Ah, but I’m still not doing leg work. I’m simply sitting and having a conversation with you.” Mycroft smiled smugly. _Asshole. He just wants to watch you suffer and turn yourself round in knots._

“Maybe I don’t want to have a conversation with you. Or to even have you in here, this is supposed to be _my_ safe place, which includes being safe from _you._ ” I would seriously rather he left. I’d been given a reprieve from talking today, I wanted it to continue.

“Nothing to be afraid of in regards to me brother mine. I simply wanted to recommend we passed some time together, it’s been an age.” Mycroft looked _slightly_ worried around the edges.

“You’re concerned. About me.” That was worry about _me_ in those eyes. He was concerned after my panic attack... _there’s a first time for everything._

“Of course I’m not.” Mycroft looked offended, **got him.**

“You are. You’re actually concerned about me, because I had a panic attack. Getting sentimental in your old age?” Oh I _liked_ getting one up on him sometimes, having the emotional high ground, it was _fun._ I never had any high ground with my brother, _ever;_ he was always in complete control and always in charge. Here I had some high ground over him, and it was _beautiful._

“You know that I don’t let sentiment crowd my judgement Sherlock. I merely thought that you would enjoy a conversation with another person, if you don’t want that, I can leave you to it.” Mycroft looked haughty as he said it, but he made no move to actually get up, instead he started setting up a chess board. We were going to play chess again, _really?_ Well, it had been an age since we last gave it a go. _The last time you did he was basically telling you to pull yourself together and move on from John, maybe he’s about to do the same thing now._

“Yet you’re not leaving, and have instead decided that playing chess is a good way to pass the time.” I settled myself down for a long game, “Going to use it as some weird metaphor for letting Hardwick inside my head and listening to her for the first time?”

“Of course not brother mine, that is your decision entirely. Though it would speed this whole process up if you did, I’m sure you would very much like to go back to Baker Street.” Mycroft didn't show any hint of lying, but he was _always_ twisting things around and making others do as he wished. And the timing of this visit was a little _too_ fortunate. He was definitely trying to convince me to trust Hardwick...

“Maybe I’m quite happy staying here.” I countered him, it was a bare-faced lie but all in the name of an argument.

“We both know that’s not true, you’ve always preferred your own space, where you’re in control.” Mycroft answered, moving his first chess piece.

“Don’t we all though, and you can hardly talk. You control _everything,_ including the entire country.” Mycroft was too OCD to _not_ control everything, he was always in control; he was never _out_ of it.

“Minor government position brother dear, _minor._ ” Mycroft answered, taking one of my pieces.

“We both know that’s not quite true.” I wasn't stupid, I’d seen my brother’s pay cheque, and his paper work, he _ran_ practically the entire country single handed.

“Of course it is, not one person can run an entire country. And that is not the point we are talking about, we are talking about your need for control.” Mycroft watched as I took one of his pieces of the board. I could finish this game in fifteen moves if I wished.

“I like control of my life as much as the next person, doesn’t mean I’m going to let someone into my head without a fight.” I countered; Mycroft moved his piece, making me rethink my strategy. Seventeen moves now.

“But letting that person inside your head will take away these side effects of your time away, meaning you can go home and continue your life as you please. Wasn't that the plan, to get the mission done and come home, continuing it like nothing had happened?” Mycroft raised an eyebrow.

“And look just how well _that_ turned out, even I’m not proud enough to deny that that plan was a disaster.” I could end this game in twelve moves, _thanks Mycroft._

“Yes, hindsight is a wonderful thing.” Mycroft commented, shit, he took my Rook.

“That it is.” I agreed, frantically reworking the game out. I wasn't about to let him win, I had the upper hand; I had to have the upper hand. Mycroft couldn't win this, argument or chess game, I was going to win, I’d had the upper hand earlier, I was going to keep it damn it!

“Honestly though Sherlock, talking through past experiences which cause you pain is not exactly a bad thing. It has been known to help.” Mycroft was really going to talk about this openly, out of all the things we could have spoken about bluntly instead of in metaphor and _this_ was what he chose? Brilliant.

“Not to me it hasn’t. Or don’t you remember all five previous rehab stints?” I could remember them all in crystal clear detail. That was not something I was going to forget in a hurry.

“Of course I do, Mummy’s constant phoning about your condition drove me almost to distraction, and the favours I had to pull to get you situated in each facility was a _nightmare._ ” Mycroft answered, he was starting his end game... _how the hell?_

“Yes, because _you_ were having a more terrible time than me.” I rolled my eyes, always trying to one up me on the ‘who’s having a worse time’ scale. Sorry big brother, _I win_ in that respect.

“You wouldn’t have been in that situation in the first place if you hadn’t gotten into drugs.” Mycroft shot back, _low blow._

“That’s beside the point, what was done, was done. What happened afterwards was quite frankly _worse_ than being high. Ever been locked in an isolation room Mycroft? Told that you’re an unfeeling sociopath? That every single little thing about yourself is _wrong_ in every possible way by professionals who are _supposed_ to help you? I don’t think so, go through that and then tell me to trust another professional.” I glared at him, wishing he’d _understand_ that. _He_ hadn’t gone through what I had done. _He_ hadn’t struggled as much as I had. And _he_ certainly wasn't in need of trusting the same profession now. So he couldn't possibly understand how hard it was to let someone like Hardwick in, so being lectured on it was pointless, it wasn't going to work on me.

“Yet that hasn’t happened once here now has it? All that has happened is _one_ sedation that you didn't agree to, and that was a necessary evil that was not sanctioned by your doctor, but by _me._ So I think it’s time you trusted your doctor for once, she’s actually making some headway with you and given you things that are genuinely helping. If you want to distrust and hate someone, hate me for sticking you in the wrong facilities in the first place, not Doctor Hardwick, who has shown you nothing but kindness since she arrived. Open up to her and get better, stop fighting her every step of the way, or spend the rest of your life here.” Mycroft glared right back, taking my last chess piece and winning the game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments/kudos!


	196. Chapter 196

195 Mycroft’s POV

I had intended on being slightly more subtle than that, but never mind, Sherlock got the message loud and clear. Open up to Hardwick, or end up in my house forever, and while I didn't exactly mind having Sherlock living here, I’d rather he went back to his own flat. This house wasn't his home, Baker Street was his home, where he had his friends running in and out constantly, was able to get out and explore London (read: map it inside his head) and generally be himself without restrictions.

Here he was cooped up a lot, if he wanted to go out (though he hadn’t asked yet, I’d bring that up soon) it would take talking to Doctor Hardwick, and triple checking his destination for trigger points, making sure Loki would be allowed in, and so many other things that didn't bear thinking about. I’d really rather he went back to his own house where he could be free to do as he pleased. And so his dog would stop malting fur all over my furniture, and my clothes. I was now covered in blond dog hairs, despite not interacting with the creature my entire time in the sensory room. It almost gave me flashbacks to Redbeard, though at least his fur was darker, it didn't show up as much as Loki’s.

“Accomplish anything Sir?” Anthea asked once she joined me down the hallway from Sherlock’s room.

“I think so yes. At the least gave him something to think about, and some company.” I answered, my message may have been louder than intended, but at least I’d gotten it out, which was the main point.

“Good... It was a good thing you did in there Sir, letting him take a small amount of control at the beginning of your meeting.” Anthea smiled a particular smile at me, the one she usually used whenever something she considered _brotherly_ was witnessed.

“I have no idea what you mean Anthea. I did no such thing as let my _brother_ have control over me.” the idea alone made my skin crawl, and it still itched now.

“Of course Sir. It was a tactical manoeuvre, to get him to listen then.” Anthea continued to smile, though started tapping away on her phone again.

“If you say so, now have you sorted out the files for China?” I changed the subject, being handed the file straight away, “Excellent.”

Anthea could be a pain with her ability to see through some of my plans, but she certainly was useful.

\--

As I worked, I kept a weather eye on Sherlock as he thought. He stayed where he was in his sensory room, presumably to keep as calm as could be while he thought through everything that had been said today, pacing up and down continually. He muttered away to himself too, though I could tell this was more ‘thinking out loud’ than ‘talking to the voices inside his head.’ Though those moments had decreased recently too, which was a nice surprise side effect of his room.

“Tell her or not tell her. Talking gets me out quicker. But talking means remembering.” Sherlock muttered away, spinning round inches from the wall and continuing in the opposite direction, not caring that the mattress was in the way.

“Remembering means panic attacks... but talking supposedly gets rid of panic attacks or at least calms them...” He continued on.

“Would you talk to a therapist about this?” Sherlock turned to Loki, “Oh you’re just a dog, you can’t exactly answer back.” He waved his hand in dismissal, just as there was a knock at the door... Visiting hours already? Wow, time flew when you were in the middle of a crisis.

“Hey, you didn't meet me outside, I wanted to check, see if there was anything I needed warning about.” John opened my office door, but stayed safely on the outside of the room. He knew better than to barge into my office unless in emergency.

“Therapy was given a break today as Sherlock has been working very hard as of late, but he is now considering letting Doctor Hardwick into his thoughts properly instead of fighting her every step of the way after discussions from both me and the aforementioned therapist.” I summarised, that covered it easily enough.

“Right, so both of you basically lectured him, bet that went down well.” John sighed, like he was going to have to deal with a grumpy Sherlock, my brother didn't get grumpy anymore, he got depressed and withdrawn, grumpy wasn't on his emotions list right now.

“He seemed to listen, which is a start. And he’s currently having a debate with himself over the matter as we speak.” I answered; I quite liked our chances. Sherlock understood logic, and never wanted to spend more time than necessary with me. Surely now that we had pointed out that fighting his therapist at the beginning of every new topic was prolonging his time spent around here with me. Which meant that hopefully now he would actually open up and get better, and therefore back to his life. I would really rather he got back to his life.

“Ah, think I’ll need to nudge him in the right direction?” John asked, dear lord _no._

“Not unless asked,” The two of them had had enough of the emotional conversations recently, it was about time they went back to discussing stolen ash trays before one of them couldn't take it anymore, “If he asks for advice, then go ahead and push him towards opening up more. If not, leave it. Any more unprompted pushing and we’ll have the opposite effect.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments/kudos, they've kept me going through all my assignments - which are officially OVER... for about a month, not including homework. My uni is determined to make sure I don't have any time to do anything, I swear.


	197. Chapter 197

196 Sherlock's POV

“So have you had a thought about what I said yesterday?” Hardwick asked in our next session, right at the usual time, not a thing changed despite the previous day’s respite.

“Yes...” I had thought about it a lot, had ended up keeping myself awake half the night thinking about it. Hell I’d nearly asked John about opening up to a therapist before deciding against it, we had had far too many conversations recently involving emotions and basically everything we weren’t good at talking about, we deserved a break from all that rubbish.

“I... I want to go home at some point, so... So I guess I’m going to _try_ and not fight you on things like this.” only because I wanted to go home, _only_ because of that, “But it’s not going to happen all the time. I’m not good... Sharing isn’t my strong point.”

“I understand that Sherlock, you’ve spent most of your life keeping all your personal thoughts and feelings close to your chest, it’s going to be hard to open up about them, especially when its tough subjects are being discussed.” Hardwick smiled reassuringly.

“Good. Because I’m not about to just _open up_ completely just because you expect me to. I don’t work like that.” I didn't want to pour my heart and soul out to her, Hardwick was still essentially a _stranger,_ I wasn't about to tell her _everything_ the minute she pointed out that it would get me home quicker. I wasn't used to telling people things about myself, just until a few months ago John didn't even know my full name, let alone anything else! And that was _John,_ not some random stranger like Hardwick, no matter what she was paid to do, or how long we had been working together for.

“Trust me, I got that you don’t work like that very quickly. But I do want you to at least _try,_ and I know that these conversations will be incredibly uncomfortable for you, and you’ve done fantastically well up until now, and I’d like us to continue on that path of opening up. And once you have, I can figure out how to help you with the effects these memories are having on you.” Hardwick explained, yes I’d gotten that already. Talking meant figuring out a fix, I wasn't stupid enough to not get that.

“Great. Where are we starting then?” I could feel anxiety start to make an appearance again, just by thinking about talking about this whole thing. If there was one thing I _really_ didn't want to talk about it was what happened while I was captured in various places around the world. And it made no sense as to _why_ I couldn't talk about these things, experiencing them in the first place should have been the hard bit, talking about it later should have been easier. But it wasn't, it still felt _horrible_ to remember, like I was still there, still feeling all that pain, that fear that I would die, and at times almost wanting it just so everything would stop for five minutes. Talking about it hurt so much; I really, really didn't want to start up again now.

“Well, I was thinking that first you could start by telling me just a simple outline of the kind of things you experienced and where. You don’t have to go into detail right now, but give me the main points.” Hardwick suggested, _not too bad for the moment, but it’ll get worse._ Either way it was going to get worse before it got better.

I hesitated, unsure on where to start, from the beginning? From the worst to the ‘easiest’ things I had endured? Start with the five types of torture and expand from there? I didn't know, I didn't have a _clue_ on where to with any of it.

“How about you start from the beginning, whenever you’re ready.” Hardwick encouraged me, in that moment I was thankful that she had allowed us to sit in my sensory room. The dimmed lights and the music were marginally helping me to continue breathing.

“I, I managed just fine for the first six months, didn't get captured once... But that was because I was running after assassins, not gun, drug or people traffickers. It was all a simple shoot-and-kill thing, not infiltrate-and-destroy. I... It wasn't until I reached my first infiltrated gang that it went wrong. I was cocky and desperate to get it over with, so I went in search of the evidence I needed while everyone was still on base. I’d done it so often in London that I didn't think twice, that had me caught in their hands for a week. Wasn't anything too bad that time, just got locked in a cell and beaten while questioned. Not exactly difficult to deal with.” I couldn't just give headlines, I felt like I had to explain what was going on, when it happened and why. I couldn't just say what I’d been put through with no context.

“I got up, straightened myself up and carried on. Took down that gang first then went after the next, learning from my mistakes. I got through so many gangs easily enough, they weren’t difficult to deal with, they were all just... well a bit stupid really. It was the clever ones I had issue with, they clocked onto what was happening with Moriarty’s other gangs, and were wise enough to check me over. Sometimes I got through, others I didn't... Either way, I got caught by almost every clever gang, and they had some _interesting_ ways of trying to get information.” I couldn't even look at Loki as I said it, playing with his collar because I couldn't do anything else.

I was scared that if I moved, I was going to somehow jump back in time to one of those cells, or have Hardwick laugh at me for getting caught. I hadn’t _meant_ to get caught, it just happened, the gangs were getting clever, and I had been so tired, so worn down. I’d just wanted to go home, I’d only thought of home and it had me slipping up.

“What kinds of interesting ways?” Hardwick asked in a whisper, anything louder would have broken the quiet too much.

“Sleep deprivation was a favourite in Serbia, as were whips and metal chains. Water boarding, as we’ve already discussed, was a favourite for both Serbia and Korea. The usual knives came out to play as well, slicing pressure points. Food and water deprivation, being forced to stand up for days on end, at the same time as not being allowed to sleep. And, on one memorable occasion, a blow torch.” A phantom pain hit my shoulder as I said it, a dull reminder of the heat that had _almost_ made me give up everything just to stop them getting that anywhere near me.

“Oh Sherlock,” Hardwick looked on sympathetically from what I could tell; I wasn't even looking at her.

“Sleep, food and water deprivation I can deal with, nothing I’m not used to while out on cases either. Standing up for that long hurt but I pushed that out the way, the whips and metal chains and pole marks have healed over and I’m not exactly scared of them.” I wasn't affected by those things, those were classic torture devices, I was used to deprivation, and being hit and stabbed at wasn't exactly new in my line of work. But the _water_ and the _blow torch,_ those were the things that haunted me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments/kudos, I'm actually nearing the end of writing this and everything you say to me really spurs me to finish this!


	198. Chapter 198

197 Sherlock's POV

“It’s the water that gets to you, because you haven’t experienced something like that in your line of work.” Hardwick finished my explanation for me, I nodded.

“In a nutshell.” I fiddled with my fingers, still really not enjoying talking about this. _Get used to it._

“And now you just have to get near water and you get scared, because you’re remembering what happened.” Hardwick continued, I didn’t want to admit to it. I _hated_ admitting to this.

“I guess.” I guessed I had to admit though.

“Is it every time you go near water, or just certain types?” Hardwick asked, at least she was talking quietly. It felt wrong to speak louder than that; this was a conversation that needed _quiet,_ anything louder would be too wrong.

“It’s, just the bath and shower. That type of stuff.” I curled further into a ball; Loki licked my face in comfort.

“Right, that makes a lot of sense, I can understand that. And it’s every time you go to get in under the water?” Hardwick had me nodding again, “Okay. It seems to me that this is triggered by feeling water hit you the face, as that’s what part of you was submerged... How did it feel when you were pushed under?” what kind of question was _that?_

“Like I was drowning, how do _you_ think it felt?” I glared at her; I had never heard such a _stupid_ question! How did it _feel_ to be water boarded, fucking horrible, that’s what!

“I’m serious Sherlock, how did you feel? What do you feel when you have a flashback?” Hardwick insisted.

“I thought you weren’t going to push too hard?” I raised an eyebrow, _that not pushing thing didn't last long._

“I’m not going to push you too hard to answer if you show too much stress at the topic, but that doesn’t mean that I’m going to give you an out every time you don’t want to talk about something.” Hardwick answered without missing a beat.

“Shit.” I swore, Hardwick smiled a bit.

“You’re not usually one for swear words, I would have thought you wouldn’t lower yourself to swearing.” Hardwick commented, the respite was quite nice if I was honest. _Lowering yourself? She thinks that you think you’re above everyone._

“I don’t _lower_ myself to anything, I’m not above anybody. I just don’t usually swear because I don’t see the point of it.” I shrugged, I didn't swear simply because I didn't, inside my head I liked to swear a _lot._

“Fair enough. Now back to the point, how does it feel during flashbacks?” Hardwick gave me a look that said that she wasn't going to let this go easily.

“It feels like I’m back in that situation, which is kinda the point of a flashback and not a memory.” I really was not going to describe how it felt, not right now. It felt horrible to live through, let alone talk through.

“Yes, care to elaborate on that?” Hardwick asked, I glared at her, “Did you feel out of control? Scared? Anything like that?”

“Of course I felt out of control! I was being held against my will and shoved under water until I passed out! I wasn't exactly having the time of my life and completely in charge of what was going on!” I fought to not shout, I didn't want to shout, but this was all stating the obvious! It had been the _worst_ part of my time away! I’d nearly _died_ repeatedly and now just staring at a bloody shower head gave me gut wrenching anxiety!

“Was the lack of control the worst part?” Hardwick continued on, seemingly getting an idea.

“No, the nearly _dying_ was the worst part.” Being out of control of the situation was nothing compared to nearly _drowning_ repeatedly.

“Of course... and how...?” Hardwick asked so many questions. How many times did this happen, were there any _really_ close life or death moments, how many people were involved, hundreds of other questions. And I ended up answering most of them, that it was a frequent thing in both countries, that I’d nearly died about three times, that there were three men involved on average. Two to hold me back, one to hold my head under water.

“There was... There was no let up. They just did it over and over. I-I had no control... I, I nearly gave up because I couldn't see a way.... I wasn't... I couldn't...” I whispered, shivering in my chair, no amount of licks from Loki calming me down.

“Do you need a break Sherlock?” Hardwick asked quietly, voice incredibly soft.

“I... I don’t... There was so much water, so much pain. My lungs were burning. I... I had rope burns for weeks.” I couldn't stop thinking about it, couldn't stop _talking_ either. I was just... I had been repeatedly drowned and nearly died. I had nearly given into dying, to get it over with, to make it stop. Was this a very delayed reaction to it all? It must have been, I hadn’t said a word while in there. I’d been silent, refusing to say anything, which made them hold me under for longer and longer until I was close to dying.

“I, I trained myself to hold my breath for long amounts of time. I could go so long without breathing. It took so long for me to pass out. I was under there for _so long._ ” I whispered, shivering, not really seeing the room I was in. I wasn't in my room anymore. Not really. I was in that cell, I was in that dark, damp place, the barrel of water sitting ominously on the other side, waiting for my head to be pushed inside it.

“Okay, I think it’s time we took a break. Come on; let’s get you to your sensory room. You’ll feel a lot better in there.” Hardwick gently led me to the room, dimming the lights and starting the playlist.

I curled up on the mattress, burying my face in Loki’s fur as classical music started to float around the room, trying desperately to stop the shivering, to stop _thinking_ about all of this. I didn't want to think anymore, I didn't want to think or talk or anything, I’d had enough, it was all too much as it was. I wanted it over, I couldn't think with all this going on inside my head. All I was seeing was that _damn_ barrel, feeling the water filling my lungs, the burn of the ropes around my already bloodied wrists. Even buried in Loki’s fur, hearing all that music, I could still see it all. Why couldn't I stop seeing it?!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments/kudos, they're really cheering me up while life is being a bit of a shit to me at the moment.   
> On that note, just to let you know, another disruption to updates is coming up, this time on Sunday's. Basically I'm down at my nan's every weekend for the next month so we can decorate several rooms in her house before she gets new carpets, she has no internet (yet) so I may not be able to update. I'll try my best, but it may be really early or really late in the day, if that doesn't work, then I'll update on Monday.


	199. Chapter 199

198 Sherlock's POV

“Relax Sherlock; let the room do its magic. Just breathe and listen.” Hardwick whispered, “Would you like to hold my hand, or something similar?”

“N-No. Don’t touch. Don’t touch me.” I didn't want her to touch me, scared of what I might do to her if provoked. I was so scared, so damn scared, I didn't know how being touched would affect that.

“Okay, if you change your mind, I’m right here, alright? I’m not going to leave you alone, unless you want me to.” Hardwick promised, making herself comfy on the floor next to me, but giving us nearly a foot of space.

“Don’t. Don’t leave.” I didn't want to be alone, not now. Not while I was feeling like this, while two different rooms where at war in front of my eyes. Not while that barrel hung itself over my head, warning me of its power.

“I won’t, I promise I won’t.” Hardwick paused for a minute, “How about if we talk about something else? What do you know about the composer of this song?”

“Can’t talk, can’t talk right now.” not right now, there was too much going on, far too much. I needed _less_ to think about, not more.

“Alright, we don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.” Hardwick didn't force me to talk, remaining quiet with me while the playlist made its way through one cycle.

And slowly, as the music played, I calmed down. Not all at once, not pleasantly, but I calmed. I managed to keep myself breathing and get myself to a point where it didn't feel like I was being haunted by old torture devices, like I was somehow safe in Mycroft’s house and not back in one of those cells again. I grounded myself in my sensory room; stroking Loki’s fur and listening to my playlist go round and round until I felt like I could actually _breathe_ again.

“I think John will be arriving soon, so I think I’ll call off our session here.” Hardwick spoke for the first time in about an hour.

“Session ended forty five minutes ago actually.” I could see the time on her watch; our session had been over for a long time.

“Officially yes, but I like to count all the time we spend together as a session. But anyway, I think I’ll take my leave now if you don’t mind. So you can spend some time with John alone.” Hardwick stood, “You did really well telling me things today, I’m very proud of you for talking to me. I’d like to continue in a similar way tomorrow if you don’t mind, but I think we’ll start in here, it may be easier.”

“If you want.” I shrugged, thinking it would certainly be easier if I had another... whatever that was again.

“I think it’ll be for the best, starting out in a soothing environment. Have fun with John, and try to get some rest tonight, you’ll be needing it after today.” She advised, before turning and leaving, giving me another twenty minutes before John arrived.

He was very understanding today with my lack of energy, as well as the diminished drive to talk. Really, I’d had enough of _talking_ for a life time, I was in need of sitting in silence for a while, or letting others do the talking for me. So, that’s what John did. He overtook the conversation today, talking about his day and how Mrs Hudson and Lestrade were getting on at home, not taking offense when I pushed the takeaway around my plate more than ate it.

He spoke briefly about a case Lestrade had been telling him about actually, saying that he’d been stumped on it for a bit, but had eventually found the smallest bit of fibre from the killers coat on the victims shoe, breaking the whole case wide open. Apparently he’d called it having a ‘Sherlock moment’ and was incredibly proud of himself for it. _Soon Lestrade won’t be needing you to solve his cases._

“Still, he’d have solved that case a hell of a lot sooner with you there.” John contradicted the voice in my head, almost like he had heard it too, “He misses you too you know. It’s been an incredibly long time since you saw each other.”

“Six months, three weeks, four days and sixteen hours.” I answered, I’d kept track of how long I’d been here, how long it had been since I’d seen anything but Mycroft’s estate. By now I should have been climbing the walls, yet I wasn't. _You’re getting too comfortable here. Soon you’ll just give up and move in permanently._

“Has it really been that long? Wow, feels like a shorter amount of time than that.” John whistled, not from my view it hadn’t been.

“Anyway, yeah, Lestrade’s been asking about you. He phones me every time he has a day off, asking how you’re doing. Molly’s been doing the same every Sunday too. They’d both like a visit when you’re up to it.” John continued seamlessly.

“At a guess there are quite a few unsolved crimes they need me to look at.” Wouldn’t be surprised, there usually was something I needed to look at whenever I saw either of them.

“Only when you’re up to it, yes there are. There are three cases from Lestrade and Molly’s got one big tumour and one bad case of gang green in the freezer for you too. I tell you, you’re not going to be bored for at least a week when you come home.” John smiled in encouragement, playing with Loki’s tail while the dog napped.

“Maybe not.” I didn't know if I would or not. It depended on whether or not I _could_ even look at crime scenes again after all this. I hadn’t looked at them in so long, and the last few times I had hadn’t ended well for anybody involved. I didn't know if I’d be able to look at anything to do with dead bodies again without having a panic attack. _Your life is screwed, what the hell are you going to do all day without cases? You’re Sherlock Holmes, you can’t do anything else!_

“All depends on how stupid Scotland Yard have been this time and how much you can experiment with, I know. But it’ll be fun, and a good way to adjust, getting right back into the swing of things again, but with less pressure involved, cause the cases have been open for a while anyway, a little while longer won’t matter that much.” John encouraged, he missed going out on cases, I could tell. He looked like he was itching for an adrenalin rush again. To get back into the swing of crime solving, gun shooting and criminal catching.

I missed it too, but I genuinely didn't know how I was going to react to it all again. Currently I couldn't even look at a _shower_ without having a panic attack, how was I supposed to look at dead bodies, bullet and knife wounds, rope burns, scars and bruising, all of it? My last few crime scene trips ended in panic attacks and one _major_ meltdown, what would the new versions do? I didn't know, and I was scared to find out. I’d be useless without crime solving, without that, I was nothing. And currently, I had no idea how I was going to cope with it all again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments/kudos!


	200. Chapter 200

199 John's POV

I probably shouldn’t have mentioned cases again, but what else could I say really? I had been running out of conversation topics, it was so hard to talk when Sherlock wasn't talking back. I should have been used to it from our times in Baker Street, where he was so quiet I barely got a word out of him for days, but that had been different. Back then, Sherlock had been quiet because he was thinking out a case, or was doing maintenance on his Mind Palace, something like that. Here he was incredibly upset because of whatever he was talking about in therapy; it was a completely different ball game.

With Mind Palace maintenance, you could leave him to it, use the time he was laying there to get stuff done around the flat without him hovering or messing things up with another experiment. Here I _had_ to get him out of his mood, because it hurt too much to watch him sit there in silence, looking like the entire world was weighing on his shoulders.

 Even his black moods had been easier to deal with, he usually just needed a good case to pull him out of his shell then, this was different. This needed... this needed something I wasn't even sure of. All I could do was give him company and hope for the best.

Still though, cases were probably not the best thing to bring up. We didn't even know if Sherlock could go out on cases ever again, he hadn’t been faced with anything like a case in _months,_ all dead things had been removed from him apart from the skull. Talk of bullets, stabbings, and any other various ways to murder someone had been strictly kept within his therapy sessions. And that was talking about _his_ experiences, not about cases. Remembering and seeing new bodies would be two completely different things. I hadn’t even fired my gun around him in so long; we didn't know how he’d react to hearing it go off. God there was so much to think about in regards to Sherlock’s future, and it worried me to think of what would happen to him if his livelihood got taken away.

Sherlock wasn't Sherlock without his cases, he was at his most alive at a crime scene, chasing down the bad guys with me, that brilliant mind of his alive and dancing with deductions. Without them, he went stir crazy, his mind rotted. What would he do with a lifetime without them? Sit and experiment all day? It wouldn’t be good enough, that would _never_ be good enough. Sherlock needed cases, he needed murders and puzzles to solve, it would be a tragedy if he was forced to remain without them.

“Mycroft... What are we going to do if Sherlock can’t return to his work?” I asked before I left that evening, Sherlock still safely tucked away in his sensory room, hopefully asleep, he’d looked exhausted when I was with him.

“I’m currently working on a few solutions to that problem if it arises.” Mycroft answered, cleverly avoiding eye contact by continuing to look through his paper work.

“Is that a clever way of saying that you have no idea?” I was pretty sure it was.

“John, my brother is a complex human being; there are many things he could do with his life that don’t involve solving murders. And even though his heart is set on that, we can find ways around him seeing bodies and being around gun shots.” Mycroft answered, I still had this distinct feeling that he didn't have a clue on what to do with him.

“Right, but you do have plans, just in case Sherlock can’t do any of it again, yeah? Cause... He’ll go crazy with them; he won’t know what to do with himself.” I bit my lip, hating to think of what would become of Sherlock without those cases as distractions. I wasn't even sure how he was coping now, maybe because he was occupied with recovery and getting through each day at a time or something.

“I know exactly what is at stake yes, don’t forget John, I have known my brother a lot longer than you have.” Mycroft sighed, finally looking at me in the eyes. For a second, he looked almost _haunted,_ like he was remembering some terrible things. And I could imagine Sherlock had done some terrible things in the past, just to make the boredom go away.

“He... That was how he got into drugs, wasn't it?” I put two and two together. Drugs certainly wouldn’t have been _boring_ and could have had a number of effects on his brain, depending on what he wanted to feel.

“Good deduction doctor. Now run along home, know that we have everything in hand in regards to what to do with Sherlock if he can’t get back to his cases. Though to be safe, let’s not bring it up again, at least not until he is ready for it.” Mycroft waved me off, and I took the advice and left, still thinking of what would become of Sherlock.

But, it wasn't like it was certain that he wouldn’t be able to face another dead body, was it? He was working hard on his recovery, very hard in fact, and making great ways with it. Apparently his nightmares had slowed, and he was getting better with being touched, and all the guilt he felt after he did what he did. He was getting there, albeit slowly. Maybe this would be the same way. Maybe all he needed was some time to figure it all out in his head, learn to separate past and present. Loki would help him distinguish between the two, and I’d help wherever possible as well. We could get there with him, surely we could. Hell, we didn't even know if he was in need of contingency plans yet, Sherlock hadn’t been near a crime scene in a long while. We never knew, he could be okay with the entire thing!

We just had to wait and see, and hope for the best. If not, well, I hoped whatever Mycroft had planned actually worked. I would have hated to see Sherlock come so far with his recovery, for it to be shattered whenever he tried to do his job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you include the prologue, this is the 200th chapter of this fic! Thank you all so much for carrying on with this, it means so much to me, you have no idea! Thank you!


	201. Chapter 201

200 Sherlock's POV

John gave me a lot to think about, what would happen if I couldn't go back to cases again? I really didn't know, I didn't have a plan, or any sort of _idea_ of what to do with myself if I didn't have cases to solve. My entire life had revolved around cases for _years,_ I literally used them as an alternative to getting high, they staved off the boredom and gave my brain some much needed stimulation. Hell, they gave me John’s friendship, we came together _because_ of cases, I needed him as much as I needed to run around London solving murderers. But if I couldn't look at a body without having violent flashbacks to the corpses I’d left behind... There was _nothing_ I could do with myself. Absolutely nothing I could do for the rest of my life. Scientific research was only a distraction that only lasted so long, I’d tried it before to no avail, I had cases, and _only_ cases. There was nothing else for me but cases. Without them I’d... I’d rot. Simply rot away and _die_ without them.

_And who would pull the trigger? Would you do it?_ Quite possibly. _Not like you haven’t considered it before. What was the plan before John arrived?_ Death by murderer. I refused to actually kill myself, to fall into the ‘suicidal genius’ cliché, or put that type of guilt onto Mummy. But, but going out due to complications while catching a criminal, that I could deal with. I’d wanted it for a while, had deliberately gotten myself into dangerous situations to see if I could make it happen.

Without a case, I don’t know how I’d do it. But I’d do it. I couldn't _not_ have cases after this was over, I _needed_ them to survive. I couldn't cope without them; they were my obsession, my _life._ If I couldn't have them, then I wasn't going to even try to live through the rest of my natural life span.

“Sherlock, you seem troubled.” Hardwick opened our session with; I fought back a snort of derision.

“My life in a nutshell.” I was always ‘troubled’ I was a neuroatypical genius, mental trouble _followed_ me.

“I mean it, something is bothering you. And it’s not our current focus.” How the hell could she tell that, we hadn’t even started yet?

“You can’t tell that.” Only the most observant people could tell stuff like that, and Hardwick wasn't _that_ good at her job. She saw through a lot, but not completely into my thoughts.

“I can. Usually when you’re scared of our therapy focus, you stroke Loki’s fur and tap your fingers. Today you’re eerily still, which I’ve been informed usually means that you’re deep in thought. So come on, what’s the matter?” Hardwick answered, damn it.

“What will happen if we can’t sort out my aversion to corpses? I can’t do my job if I keep on having meltdowns at the sight of bullet wounds.” Let alone blood, stab wounds, bullets in general, internal organs, whatever other gruesome things London’s criminals could think up.

“Ah, I was wondering when you were going to start worrying about that.” Hardwick bit her lip, “I honestly do not know. Obviously, I’ll help you to the absolute best that I can, and will support you for as long as you need, even after you’re back on your feet, even if that means staying with you until you can find a suitable replacement for consulting work. But currently, I do not know. I think your brother has some plans, but he hasn't shared them with me so far. I do have a small plan that could help calm you if you do get stressed at a crime scene, which could help in many different situations, too.” Hardwick hadn’t mentioned a plan... “It’s to do with your sensory room.”

“I can’t exactly take that everywhere I go though, now can I? It’s a bit big and I don’t have some sort of teleportation device.” The sensory room was good for being at _home_ with, I couldn't take it out with me though, it was physical impossibility.

“You may not need one. As I understand it, your brain is one of the best trained minds in the country, possibly the world, and you use a Mind Palace to store everything, right?” Hardwick asked, I nodded, suspecting where she was going with this...

“And with this Mind Palace, you can wander the halls, disappearing inside your head for hours sometimes, yes? You’ve used running into your 221B flat several times in times of stress, if my talks with your brother are correct.” Was she really going down that route?

“You want me to build a room in my Mind Palace which is a replica of the sensory room, so I can take it with me wherever I am.” I finished for her, how could that even work? I was sort of _kicked out_ of the palace at the moment, and even if I wasn't, I was still dealing with wandering memories, how could I keep them _out_ of my sensory room? There was no point in specifically keeping a sensory room in there if the memories I was blocking out got in!

“Exactly, and I think I can help you get back inside your Mind Palace and take control of it. I’ve been doing some research and observing of my own. And I think with some time and patience, I think I can get you back inside your palace, take back control of it, and to use it whenever you need it.” Hardwick explained her plan to me in great detail; she had noticed that I found it easier to access memories, good or bad, while inside my sensory room here. I was relaxed inside that specific room; I had more control over myself in there. If I got myself back inside my palace while inside my sensory room, I could rebuild it, get it back to the standards I was used to. If I did that, I could try and get the wandering memories back into a dungeon, or at least a locked room so I wasn't being attacked with them at random. I should have been less sensitised to them now as it was, as I had spent, and was still spending, lots of time talking through the memories and taking away some of their power. So trapping them shouldn’t be as difficult as it had been before.

And once all the memories were locked away, I _should_ have been able to wander my palace freely without disruption, and be able to make a sensory room I could run into at any time I wished. So if I was out at a crime scene, or in some situation where everything got too much, I could escape inside the mental sensory room and calm down. Of course, it would take some practice to get back inside the Mind Palace while I wasn't been affected by my real sensory room. But, I was pretty sure I could manage it. And if it provided me with a portable safe place which could get me through crime scenes and other triggering places, I was willing to try anything.

“Where do we start?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooo chapter 200! So sorry I couldn't upload this on time yesterday, I spent all weekend at my Nan's, scraping wallpaper and pressure washing her patio. It doesn't sound like much I know, but it actually took up an entire weekend and by the time I got home it was late and I had to do a lot of other stuff. Sorry about that, but hey, at least it's here now! :)


	202. Chapter 202

201 Sherlock's POV

“Right, are you comfortable?” Hardwick asked, I nodded, “Good, feeling well rested?” again, I nodded, “Safe?”

“Yes, I’m feeling safe and calm and everything else. I’m ready, come on!” I hurried her along, I wanted to get inside my damn Mind Palace already and get sorting with it. I needed this so much, more than anything, wasting time wasn't helping!

“Okay, okay, breathe Sherlock. I know you’re eager to start, but we will get there soon.” Hardwick laughed a little.

“Well can that hurry up now? There’s a lot to sort out in there, I’d _really_ like to get started.” I was almost desperate, the idea of having a portable sensory room sounded _heavenly._ I could use it anywhere, in the shower, at crime scenes, after waking from a nightmare, whenever I felt anxiety over anything. I was half surprised I hadn’t thought of it before.

“As you wish then. Now I want you to relax, and go to your Mind Palace, like you usually would. I’ll talk you through from there.” Hardwick was talking in a very quiet voice, to cause the least amount of disturbance.

“I usually require silence. And an empty room too.” If I was digging deep, I preferred to be alone. It helped me concentrate without being distracted by people thinking and breathing near me.

“I’m afraid I’m needed here to guide you through this. But I can be quieter if you need it.” Hardwick offered, I figured she would say that.

“Figures. Well just, try not to breathe.” I laid down on my mattress, pressing my hands together in front of my face, mentally walking up to the front of my Mind Palace.

It was a huge building in a ‘Y’ shape, each wing dedicated to a different section. Left was for life in general, filled with music and the people I came into contact with regularly, childhood memories I hadn’t deleted, my other favourite activities, like dancing. Right was for science, with labs and every fact about science I had ever read filed away. Then the middle was for The Work, it was closer to the Science Wing than life was, but that was so I could run between the two whenever I needed information pertaining to cases. The Work was filled with every case I had ever worked on, solved and unsolved. Forensic knowledge was also held there, almost melding with the science wing. Deduction was in there too, everything I possibly needed for The Work was in that middle wing.

God had I missed this place. It was like my safe haven from the world, and today I was going to open the doors again, get it up to scratch and build a safer place inside the haven.

“Are you at the doors?” Hardwick asked, voice coming somewhere from the left.

“Yes. Right outside.” I ran my hands over the wooden doors, admiring the heavy wood, the doors reaching at least eight feet high.

“Good. Now I want you to go inside. Don’t go anywhere, just stand in the foyer.” Obvious instruction, but I did as told; entering the Palace, slightly dreading what state it was in.

Surprisingly, it wasn't that bad inside. In need of a bit of a spring clean, but the stone walls were still standing, the portraits still intact. Nothing was really knocked over, or in the wrong place. So far, so good.

“Is there anything pressing that needs to be done in here specifically?” Hardwick asked softly.

“No. It’s fine.” I could deal with this later, once everything else was fixed. The Mind Palace may be intact, but there were wandering memories I had to fix, and a whole new room to build.

“Great, now I want you to take a wander round, readjust yourself to your Palace, get the feel of it again. Mark out anything that needs fixing, and figure out where you would like to put your sensory room.” Hardwick told me, I did as told, taking a leisurely stroll around the Palace again.

It was nice to just walk around again, dipping in and out of rooms, recalling things as I wished. Nothing bad though, all good memories, or musical scales, perhaps a few molecule structures, anything that took my fancy. The entire time, I was wary that I would be running into a bad memory again, but I continued my search anyway, figuring that running into a bad memory meant I could figure out a way to lock it away properly this time.

I hadn’t managed it before because I was too freaked out, my brain hadn’t been under my control and I had been too stressed to find a good way to keep these unwanted memories at bay. And when I had, they had just escaped again whenever I was triggered by something. Now though, I was better in control of my mind, I wasn't cured yet, but I was getting there. I was in a safe place; I could lock these already desensitised memories away.

At least, I could with the ones involving murder anyway.

Which I ran into reasonably quickly. I had been on the second floor of The Work wing when the first came at me. It was a memory of shooting a mob boss through the head, after perusing the gun section. Stupid thing to do, but I’d wanted to go inside, and this memory was hiding in there.

“I-It’s here. What... What do I do?!” I panicked, backing away from the memory, the images and sounds advancing towards me in full HD.

“Breathe Sherlock, remember that you are safe. You are completely and utterly safe. Whatever you are seeing is not real right now, it is in your past, and we’re going to get rid of it. Do you have a place you want to put this memory?” Hardwick coached, thankfully not touching me. I didn't want to be touched at this second.

“Yes. Yes I want it in the file room.” In a locked box, so I could unlock it when _I_ wanted to.

“Okay, now I want you to keep on taking deep breaths for me, and go up to that memory, and squash it. Take it in your hands and squash it, make it the size of a grape and hold onto it tight.” Hardwick instructed, was she crazy?!

“Don’t question it Sherlock, just try it. Take the memory and squash it. Remember that you are bigger than this memory, you are safe and in the present. This is your past, which is very far behind you. There is no reason to be scared of it anymore.” Hardwick encouraged as I hesitated.

Slowly, I took a deep breath, heading towards the memory, putting a hand on either side of the image and trying to push it into a smaller size. But it wouldn’t budge! The images of the bullet going through the boss’ head was repeated over and over, right in front of my eyes, the sound of his brains hitting the wall behind repeating over and over.

“It... It won’t budge! It’s not shrinking!” it had to shrink, it had to shrink!

“It will do. _You_ are in charge Sherlock, not this memory, _you._ This is your memory, in your Palace, you can squash it down. You are stronger than a memory. Do not focus on what is in that memory, focus on making it _tiny._ ” Hardwick continued to encourage me, until eventually my arms moved, shrinking the memory until it fit inside my hand.

“It’s down!” I grinned, feeling the memory trying to fight its way back to full size, but my fist _crushed_ it.

“Good Sherlock, well done! Now take it where you want it to go, and put it away.” I took the memory to the file room, placing it in a heavy chest, locking it away before it could escape again.

And I did it over and over, wandering the palace, taking every memory I could find and squashing it down, repeatedly taking them back to the chest to lock them away. It took hours, but soon every murder and fight I had been a part of was locked inside chests inside the file room, ready for me to look at if I ever wanted to, if I was ever ready to. But for now, gone and not wandering around my Palace.

It was all going swimmingly, all my bad memories going away in a systematic and easily remembered way. Until... Until I ran into the memories from Serbia. Saw the barrel my head had been forced into waiting at the end of the hall way. Watching, waiting.

I wasn't scared of it; I went up to it, ready to crush it in my palms just as I had done with everything else. But it didn't work, the barrel stayed put, not moving even a centimetre. It was _stuck._ I tried different angles, tried dragging it to where it should be, and nothing worked. It stayed where it was, and when I looked into the water, the memories hit me like a tonne of bricks, waking me up from my trance _screaming._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate updating two days in a row, but I guess that's what happens when I miss a day and have to catch up. Hopefully I'll get back to the normal schedule soon, but currently no promises.


	203. Chapter 203

202 Sherlock's POV

"Hey, hey Sherlock, it's okay, it's okay. You're safe, it was just a memory!" Hardwick immediately jumped to me as Loki put the light on, the light burning my eyes for a second, bringing everything into a hazy half focus.

"No, no get off no!" I cried out, scrambling to stand up right and away from her, heaving in breath as much as I could, trying desperately to reorientate myself.

"Sherlock, it's okay, you're in your brother’s house, in your sensory room. You ran into a bad memory, but you're safe now." Hardwick explained, staying in the floor, not coming closer, but not backing off either. _Scared you’ll hit her._

"Memory, it was... Bad memory." I sunk to the floor, figuring out the situation, "sorry, sorry. I just... Got taken by surprise."

"Perfectly okay, I don't blame you. You were remembering Serbia again, weren't you?" At least she didn't say specifics. _She knows exactly what you were remembering though._

"Yeah, yeah, Serbia again." I nodded, pushing my head between my knees. Loki licked my face in comfort, just like he had been trained to.

"Were you blindsided into it? Or were you trying to crush it like the others?" Hardwick asked, sounding sympathetic.

"I was trying to crush it, but... It just wouldn't budge. I tried different angles and it just would not go anywhere," I had tried so hard but it just hadn't gone anywhere, "I caught my reflection. And, and I saw... I felt it all again." My fingers dug into my arms painfully. A good kind of pain though, grounding, I felt safer when I felt it. Loki nudged at my hand.

 "I'm sorry; I suspected something like this would happen at some point.” _Why the hell didn't she warn you of that then?_ “But on the bright side we got rid of a lot of your other memories. That's going to make your Mind Palace a much nicer place." Hardwick smiled in comfort, I guessed she was right. Didn't mean I enjoyed being smacked in the face with a memory that violent.

"Didn't get to build the new room though." I had wanted to get that done, but now I was too freaked out to dare go back inside. Just _thinking_ about going back inside made my veins fill with dread, I never wanted to run into that damn barrel again, definitely not in my Mind Palace.

"We can do that tomorrow if you like. You did well though, you were facing a lot of problematic memories just then, and dealt with them very valiantly, I'm very proud." Hardwick made an aborted move to squeeze my arm. _Doesn’t trust you enough to touch you yet._ Or maybe she was been cautious because I’d just had some form of panic attack.

"Does that mean we're done for the day?" I asked, preferring for all the therapy to be done for the day now. I felt exhausted, and almost like I was going to pass out.

"If you want it to be yes." Hardwick nodded, thank God for that.

"I want to finish for the day." I really wanted it over for the day.

"Alright, we can finish. You did well, much better than I was expecting if I'm honest." Hardwick encouraged, still giving me a comforting smile. I think she was trying to distract me so I calmed down, I had to admit, it was working.

"Never underestimate me, I thrive on beating expectations." I smiled a bit too, not minding the joking too much.

Hardwick was alright, for a therapist. At least she listened to my limits and didn't push them too far, instead actually paying attention and stepping back when it was needed. Maybe... For once Mycroft was right about something involving my treatments...

"I can tell, it means a lot to you, to prove people wrong about their perceptions of what you can do." Hardwick could stop that train of thought right this instant. _She’s talking about Aspergers; she thinks that you can’t do things because you’re Autistic!_ Well if she did she certainly didn't show it most of the time, and I think I had proven that I was more than a diagnosis recently!

"Don't get cocky with the analysis of my psyche. I'm barely listening now." I warned in what I hoped was a way that conveyed that I wanted her to stop but not that I was getting too defensive... Yet. I didn't like this conversation, it wasn't... I was not ready to talk about anything like this, not right now anyway. I could still feel my heart pounding inside my ribcage thanks to that bloody flashback.

“Not getting cocky at all. Just making the assumption that you’ve spent most of your life proving yourself to be better than others think you are.” Hardwick shrugged, leaning back on her hands, the most relaxed posture I had ever seen her use.

“I just like being proven to be clever.” I shrugged it off too, hoping she would drop it.

“If you say so.” Hardwick smiled a bit. Loki was nudging at my hand; I took the hint and stroked his ears.

“I do say so. I like being proven to be clever.” John called it showing off, and if it got the job done, I didn't mind showing off one bit. It got me listened to, and half the time, that was all I wanted, to be listened to like I was an actual human being.

“I don’t think anybody denies that Sherlock. But I think it’s time I took my leave. You’ve got about an hour until John gets here, so I recommend you use that time to calm down a bit, so you can enjoy your time together. I’ll see you tomorrow, where we can build your new room together.” Hardwick smiled again, getting up and heading out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments/kudos, that last chapter was a serious case of guessing and working mostly with my own headcanon, thank you for all the encouraging comments with it!


	204. Chapter 204

203 Sherlock's POV                                                                          

For days, we worked through my Mind Palace, tidying it and checking for spare memories to lock away, making sure that the locks on the chests I was keeping the memories inside were tight, and building my sensory room in the Life Wing. I put it there specifically because that was the wing for everything that had absolutely nothing to do with The Work. It made no sense to build a sensory room filled with music in the Science Wing, or with The Work. Life made more sense, as that was where my musical knowledge was, along with everything else I found comforting.

The room was built next to my model of 221b, literally next door. I would have also put Loki in there, but Redbeard was running around so I felt like he wasn't needed. Even if Redbeard wasn't inside, I wouldn’t have put Loki in there, as I didn't think I was going to need to access his memory in my head, as he was going to be at my side at all times. There was a chance we could get separated while on a chase, but... well I’d see what happened then. That was a small risk I was currently willing to take, I had a sensory room and Redbeard inside my head... anyway I had a feeling that Redbeard wouldn’t take well to having another dog running around my head. He was very protective of me; somehow I didn't think he’d like to have another dog being by my side.

This was all going well, apart from one problem. I couldn't get rid of the memories of the water boarding. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get rid of the memories, or the barrel from my thoughts. The objects and memories had stuck, I couldn't move them an inch, though they seemed to sneak up to me and follow me around whenever I caught sight of them. I had tried to run away from them, but they always caught up, even when I tried to trick them into a separate chest I couldn't manage it. Each time they refused to let me manipulate them.

There were times when I caught sight of them and immediately found myself rushed back into those memories, or my hands would be immediately tied behind my back, or my lungs refused to take in my air, or I’d just _freeze._ I couldn't get them to go away, or gain any control over the memories of water boarding. Every time I so much as _looked_ at a memory of that damn barrel, everything fell out of my control and I would be left to suffer through at least parts of the memories.

It was exhausting, leaving me almost scared to go back inside my Palace because I couldn't control when I saw the memories. They just _popped up_ without my permission. There was nothing I could do. John and Hardwick tried to be encouraging, but they didn't understand. I was so scared to face those memories, and it was getting worse. I could barely even look at the bathroom anymore without wanting to have a panic attack. Anything to do with water was becoming absolutely terrifying; I couldn't function properly, not with all these damn memories crashing into me constantly. There was no let up, and I couldn't take it.

“I think what we need to do is get you to regain control of the situation.” Hardwick answered when I explained my problem to her.

“Wow, I thought you weren’t going to start stating the obvious, I guess I was wrong.” I spat, if she wasn't going to come up with at least something _comforting_ to say then I would rather she didn't say anything at all.

“Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit Sherlock.” Hardwick raised an eyebrow, was she really trying to bait me into an argument so I listened to her or something? _Well it usually works for Mycroft doesn’t it?_

“I usually find it to be the only kind idiots understand.” I shot back at her, running my hands through my hair. My scalp was itching horribly; I hadn’t washed the shampoo out of it properly this morning, as I was too desperate to get out from the spray before I actually collapsed from fear.

“I’m going to ignore that dig at me and carry on with what I was trying to say before. I think you need to regain the control, and I have an idea. It may not work, but it is worth a shot, if you’re willing to give it a try.” Hardwick didn't miss a beat, didn't even give me a minute to think of a retort before she carried on, “I think your main problem with these memories is that you were completely out of control in the original situation. You were alone, with no back up, tied and guarded, and forced under the water mercilessly.”

“Thanks, really needed that graphic reminder.” I sneered at her; did she have to put it like _that?_

“No problem. As I was saying, I think you’re mostly being affected by the lack of control. You’ve shown time and time again that you crave control over your life in every aspect of it; you don’t like anybody telling you want to do, and you have always had complete control over your body and what you put it through. And whenever that autonomy has been taken away from you, you’ve reacted very badly. Now add in the traumatic nature of what happened to you in those cells, you’re reacting even worse than usual. You need to regain that control.” Hardwick explained... she wasn't exactly _wrong_ I guessed.

I did like control, I liked to have complete control of everything around me, hence why I didn't really let anybody tell me what to do or change my routines. Everything had to be on my schedule, I couldn't take not being in control. In every fight I had been in while I was away, I may not have been completely in control of what was going on, I was at least in control of my limbs. I could move as I wanted, use whatever weapon I could, decide what I was going to do next. In those cells, during those torture moments, I hadn’t been in control. I hadn’t been in any sort of control. And adding in the torture on top of that, I _guessed_ that could be a cause as to why I couldn't control these memories.

“That doesn’t tell me how I regain control though.” I wasn't sure how I could get that control back. I wasn't about to go back to Serbia for round two of torture, just to see if I could regain control of the situation. I would rather live like this forever than try _that._

“I was getting there; I was simply pausing to let that bit sink in. Anyway, I think we should conduct an experiment of sorts, much like our touching trials. I think we should come up with a situation where you are exposed to water, but you have the control.” Hardwick replied, sitting back and letting me have the floor with the idea.

“But I’m in control in the shower; I control where I am, the temperature, the flow and everything. That hasn’t exactly been successful in desensitising me so far.” I had been in that shower over a hundred times; it wasn't exactly doing much right now.

“Well maybe that’s because you’re distracted while the water is hitting you in the face, which is a direct reminder of what happened to you. I think if we remove the possibility of you getting hit specifically in the face, possibly of you getting underneath the water at all, we could come up with a situation where you can be in control of the water.” Hardwick answered, twiddling with her pen as she thought.

“And this is supposed to help me with these memories how exactly?” I wasn't quite getting that bit of this.

“If we give you the control back, then we can show you that not all large bodies of water are to be feared. Once we break that thought process, I think we can get some real therapy done with your phobia, and then we can get those memories locked away. They’re one of the last things causing you issues, if I remember rightly.” Hardwick smiled.

“What happens once we sort all the issues out?” I asked, if we were getting close here, then I wanted to know what was going to happen me now. _Prison probably. And don’t get cocky; you’ve got to figure out if you can ever manage to get to a crime scene ever again._

“Then I shall consider some trips out to London, figure out if you can manage the crowds and all of your friends again. If you manage that, then I’ll consider letting you see some crime scene photos, and we will hopefully, if all goes well, slowly integrate you back into Baker Street and your life as you had it.”

Now _that_ sounded like a plan I could get behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, sorry for the late chapter, I spent my entire weekend stripping yet more wallpaper, but it's now done! All I've got to do now is actually paint two rooms and then I'm done with the decorating until I have to move house in a few months, so I should be back to the normal Sunday update in the next two weeks!


	205. Chapter 205

204 Sherlock's POV                                                             

I jumped into the planning stage of this new experiment, desperate to speed this up, the idea of going home, as in _home,_ 221b with John and Mrs Hudson, it was... I had no words for how much I wanted that. I _needed_ it. Mycroft’s house wasn't home, it was a place to stay, a place that looked like 221b but it wasn't 221b. There weren’t seventeen steps up to the flat, the 14th being creaky when you stepped on it, burnt holes in the table in the kitchen, a spray painted smiley face on the wall, none of that. That was a cheap imitation of my home, and even though I was used to it, I preferred _my_ home, the one I had gotten all by myself.

The home where John came home from work and _stayed,_ Mrs Hudson came in for a chat, and was always downstairs, usually with food when I got hungry and there was no food in. The home where Lestrade ran in with cases, and Molly sometimes dropped by with body parts. None of that happened here, and I wanted it to. I wanted that slice of normal now. I wanted my friends, my home, my _life_ back. This wasn't living, this was... this was practically _stagnating_ with far too much introspection and talking for my liking.

“I have an idea!” I announced to Hardwick a day after she had breached the topic of an experiment.

“Brilliant, do tell all.” Hardwick smiled up at me.

“I’m pretty sure this counts, and if it doesn’t then never mind I gave it a shot. Anyway, what if I give Loki a bath? Then I’m a) in the bathroom where most of my problems are coming from, b) in control of the water but not in it, and c) in a confirmed safe space, with my therapy dog who is specifically here to help me with therapy.” I explained, quite proud of myself. This was the first experiment I had come up with by myself in _years,_ I hadn’t experimented in a very long while, I sort of missed it. The planning, the curiosity of the results, even if those results could potentially cause me a lot of pain.

“Hmm, so you’d be giving Loki a wash, using the shower, in complete control of where the water was going. You’d actually be getting a bit wet actually, thanks to the fact that dogs don’t really sit still.” Hardwick looked down at Loki, who was wagging his tail next to me, like he knew we were talking to him.

“I’m getting under the water, but not _fully,_ just my arms. There’s a large chance he’ll shake the water off him, but I think I may be able to manage that. Because it’s Loki, and it’s not a constant stream, it’s just droplets hitting at random.” I had thought all of this through intensely all night, had barely slept because of it too, I knew what I was doing. For the most part anyway.

“I shall have a think, go through the variables from a psychological point of view. But I like it currently, it’s a very good idea, and very simple to set up.” Hardwick praised, I had missed being praised for my ideas. _Doesn’t mean she’ll let you go through with it._ It was still a damn good idea! I was _helping_ and that was what mattered!

Hardwick approved my idea the next day, and set about giving me some pointers and tips to help with getting through this. Mostly it was breathing exercises and some ideas on how to ground myself in the moment, reminding myself where I was.

At first I was excited to get started, to get into all of this and figure out if I could manage to break this idea that water meant near death experiences. But as we got more towards the ‘experiment day’ I started getting scared again. I wished I didn't, I was _giving Loki a bath,_ not going into war. Yet I couldn't help but feel like I was setting myself up for a massive panic attack, possibly the most horrendous flashbacks.

As we got nearer to it, my nightmares got worse again, reminding me of every single time my head had gone under the water. The most regular was the time I nearly died; over and over it played inside my mind, nearly every single night when I closed my eyes. I could never sleep after that nightmare.

But I soldiered through, breathed through it, reminded myself that it was over, and once I got over this ridiculous phobia I was that one bit closer to going home. Home was my goal, home was _always_ my goal. I had my Mind Palace sensory room, I had my therapy dog, I had things in place to help me through this. I could do this. I just... I just had to get through it and break this stupid phobia. It was water, I was in control, I was in control, I wasn't going to die, I was going to be able to breathe.

The day of my experiment with Loki and showers, I spent the morning in the real sensory room, calming myself down as much as possibly with copious amount of violin playing. Even after hours of that, my nerves were on edge, dread twisting my stomach around in circles until I finally had to step into the bathroom again, followed by Loki and Hardwick. I’d decided to keep John out of this one, save him seeing me like this. He’d avoided much of my water based problems; I’d rather he wasn't subjected to this today.

Slowly, I lifted Loki into the tub, taking a moment to remind myself that I was still breathing in one of the safest buildings in the country. There were no torturers, no guards, no large barrels of water to stick my head in. Just a shower, a bath, a dog and a therapist. None of which could hurt me. _Apart from a therapist, they lock people away and throw away the key she could still do that to you or deem you worthy of prison after you’re mentally stable again that’ll be fun won’t it being in prison with murderers, half of which you put away and-_

“Sherlock, it’s okay. You’re doing great.” Hardwick broke the thoughts speeding through my head. It felt like my chest was being crushed right now, I couldn't breathe properly through the fear. _Sherlock Holmes, defeated by water. Wow, Mummy would be even more disappointed in you._

“I... Give me a minute. Don’t talk.” Not right now, not in the echoing bathroom, water residue left from my earlier shower in the tub.

Loki licked my face gently, like he was being encouraging while I fought passing out. **I could do this. I could definitely do this. It was just showering a dog. I had done it to Redbeard a thousand times. Had used the memory in fact to help me calm down before. I just had to do this and then I was one step closing to going home. Focus on home, focus on going home.**

With a shaking hand, I reached up, turning on the shower, the water hitting Loki and the tub, but not me. I was safe, I wasn't being hit. It wasn't me at all. Just Loki and a tub. I was in control, I was in control. I could be in control. The water was under my power. Not anybody else, just me.

My hands slowly lifted the shower head off the hook slowly moving it over Loki’s fur, wetting it and turning it a darker blond colour. Almost grey really. _Grey like the murky water in that barrel._ Nope. Not thinking about that. Really wasn't. Really wasn't going to think of that water. Because this was English water, from England, because I was in England. In Mycroft’s house, perfectly safe and sound. Not a thing could go wrong here. I wasn't going to drown, I wasn't going to drown and die. **God please don’t let me drown and die.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments again, it means a lot, especially on stressful weeks like this one!


	206. Chapter 206

205 Sherlock's POV                                               

Slowly, ever so slowly, I started washing Loki’s fur, my shaking hands barely able to do any sort of decent job on it. I couldn't stop shaking, couldn't stop thinking back to Serbia and Korea. All my memories were racing through my head, playing loudly outside my Mind Palace sensory room. I’d locked myself inside a while ago, trying desperately to listen to the music and _calm down._  But being half in and half out of it wasn't helping.

I could hear the water flowing, feel it on my hands, I couldn’t... I couldn't calm down. I couldn't breathe properly, I was, I wasn't...

“I... I can’t. I can’t do this.” I whispered, I couldn't, I had to go, had to get out of here right now!

“You can Sherlock, I believe in you. We can have a break if you wish, you’re doing so well.” Hardwick encouraged, but I _couldn't_ do this. There was so much water around, it didn't matter that I was in control of it! I didn't feel like I was in control, I couldn't concentrate. My mind was telling me so many things at one time. That I was in the bathroom, in my sensory room _and_ in that Serbian cell too. It felt like I was imagining all of this safety, that this was a dream I was having thanks to oxygen deprivation. **I’m going to die; I’m going to die here!**

“You’re not going to die Sherlock; you are perfectly safe right now. You are in the bathroom at Mycroft’s house; you are in control of this water. Nobody is going to push you in, or do anything of the sort to you. If you want the water to stop, you can turn it off, make it all go away.” Hardwick was saying, but I could barely hear her. I was stuck in a loop, stuck hearing all my screams and shouts, the torturers screaming questions at me constantly, the bubbles of air popping as they reached the water’s surface while I desperately tried to not let them go.

“I... I _can’t._ I can’t... I... I...” I couldn't, I had to go, I had to go! Without thinking, I raced out of the room, hiding back inside my real sensory room, away from the noise and the water and _everything._

I slid down the door, curling up in a ball as a panic attack smacked me in the face, sucking the air from the spinning room. _Pathetic. Absolutely pathetic. You were washing a bloody dog and you can’t even do that without panicking! This is absolutely useless!_

But, but the memories! I couldn't get over the damn memories! The minute the water starting flowing all I could think about was being _water boarded,_ and I couldn’t take it! I couldn't take the memories, thinking about nearly dying out there, being so out of control I couldn't do anything but take what was being thrown at me. Oh God that was awful, absolutely awful. I never wanted to try that again!

“Sherlock, are you okay? Do you need me to come in?” Hardwick asked through the door, I didn't answer, still trying desperately to regain my ability to breathe. _You can’t breathe, like you’re underwater again. Imagine being back under again, held down by all those guards, no-one around for back up._

Shut up, shut up, shut up! I didn't want to remember that! I _really_ couldn't remember that right now! I wasn't... I couldn't deal with this! All those memories, all those awful, awful memories. I couldn't even move them to one space inside my mind to avoid them; there was nothing I could do to avoid them. I was stuck with them forever, why couldn't they go away!? I wanted it to go away and it wouldn’t go!

**_I fought as hard as I could against the arms dragging me towards the barrel of water. I knew exactly what was coming next, water boarding. They were going to stick my head under there until I passed out. Over and over until I gave them what they wanted._ **

The room spun in time with my thoughts, closing in on me at the same time. It felt like the walls were caving in on top of me, the whole world shrinking down to just the sound of displaced water hitting the floors and tiles. My lungs constricted further, I couldn't breathe, _I couldn't breathe._

“Sherlock, Loki is out here if you want him.” Hardwick said through the door, “He’s not wet anymore. We’ve dried him off for you.”

**_“Let go of me! Let go! I’m not the one you want!” I cried out desperately in Korean. It fell on deaf ears._ **

“I can’t. I can’t.” I couldn't move, I couldn't... I was, I was stuck, I couldn't go anywhere right now! I was stuck, I needed to move but I couldn't! I was... I was... I needed Loki but I couldn't move and I couldn't move because I was scared but Loki could help me not be scared but I couldn't move to get him but I needed him, I needed him so badly why couldn't I get him?!

“Okay, okay Sherlock, it’s alright. You’re not alone, I’m here and Loki is here too. I need you to listen to my voice; can you do that for me?” I nodded, knowing she couldn't see me.

“Can you move at all? Or talk?” no, no I couldn't. I was so scared, I was so, _so_ scared. There was so much noise and too many memories and feelings! I couldn’t, my brain wasn't... It was too much!

**_“Tell us everything.” The guard hissed, menacingly tightening his hand in my hair._ **

**_“I don’t know anything! I don’t!” I struggled as much as I could, but got nowhere. Everything was screaming to run but I couldn't go anywhere! I was held fast, no chance of escape coming. There wasn't even the chance of a rescue, Mycroft wouldn’t know I had been captured until I missed my next check in, which wasn't for another twenty four hours. I could be dead by then. _ **

“Shit, Sherlock I think you’re having a panic attack, mixed with a shutdown. But I want you to try and fight it okay? I need you to fight it so you can move away from the door. Can you do that for me? I want you to try for me, okay?” No. No. It wasn't okay. I couldn't... the thoughts, my _head._

**_My head was shoved under water, stinging my eyes and rushing into my lungs, blocking every air way. I tried desperately to keep the air inside, but it escaped too easily, my mouth letting out a silent scream, allowing more water inside, choking everything._ **

“No, I don’t want you to hit your head on the door, that’s going to make things worse. What I need you to do is try and breathe. I’ll count for you. Deep breathe in... And breathe out. Breathe in... Breathe out.” It wasn't helping! I couldn't breathe, I wasn't, I was going... this wasn't, I couldn't do it!

“Move out of the way Doctor, you’re not helping.” A deeper voice, on the other side of the door, “William, I’m going to come in, alright? I built another entrance into your room, the door is on the wall on the right, and I am going to come in thirty seconds after I have finished speaking. I will bring Loki with me, and I am going to sit with you. You will be perfectly safe brother mine, I promise.”

**_So much water, so much water! Couldn’t breathe, couldn't move couldn't breathe couldn't do anything! I was dying, I was dying, this was it I was dying!_ **

A door opened to the right, my brother walking inside, Loki hot on his heels. He came over slowly, moving to sit down beside me.

**_My head was yanked out of the water. Air! I had air! I could breathe!_ **

I scrambled over to him, hiding in my brothers arms, begging for him to help me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments/kudos!


	207. Chapter 207

206 Mycroft's POV

I was desperate to see if Sherlock’s experiment was going to work on him, and so set myself up to watch the video feed. Currently, I had a very bad feeling about this particular experiment, feeling that it was going to end badly. At least for the first time, until Sherlock got his bearings and got used to what was happening to him.

The minute my little brother stepped into that bathroom, I was certain it was going to go wrong, just by the way he was shaking. Even with the additions of Sherlock’s beloved blue dressing gown and his therapy dog (and the medication he was still taking, with an added extra boost to his anti-anxiety pill) his whole body was quivering with nerves. It was a wonder he was still standing to be honest.

And from there it only got worse; I could read all the signs in him that he was getting over sensitised, which was making him more and more fearful. Every cell in my body was screaming at me to go and get him, to take him out of this before he had a meltdown, or worse, had a terrible relapse. But I had to let this carry out, give Sherlock the control here. This was all about control; he needed to be in charge of this, to decide on his own when he needed this to stop. I just wished he would _hurry up_ with it before he went past the point of no return.

I watched as he ran from the room, hiding himself away in his sensory room. The poor child was so scared he couldn't even turn on the music properly, so I remotely set it going myself, the first classical piece starting to flow through the speakers gently. Though it didn't seem to be of much assistance, Sherlock was still shaking with terror, slowly getting less and less responsive as his eyes glazed over into a flashback. _Shit._ This was not going to end well.

“Anthea, field my calls for the rest of the day. It seems that an important business meeting has come up and cannot be ignored.” I stood from my desk, figuring that it was now my time to come in and save my brother from his own mind. Again. Or at least until John turned up, if Sherlock wanted to see him of course. He may not, this was heading towards a complete shut down, and I didn't think he was keen on his best friend seeing signs of his permanent neuroatypicalities.

“Of course Sir.” Anthea nodded, “Shall I phone Doctor Watson too, to let him know about the situation?”

“Not yet. Let me get a proper analysis done first.” Meaning that I wasn't going to let the man come running down here straight away and make a fuss. John didn't know how to handle Sherlock’s shut downs properly, he had only ever seen one. This was the one area in which I was more medically trained that he was, at least when it came to Sherlock anyway.

I could hear Doctor Hardwick talking to Sherlock from half way down the corridor, it sounded like Loki was whining and scratching at the door. _Note to self; get the door replaced after Sherlock returns to Baker Street._ No point in doing that beforehand, in case the dog decided to scratch it up again in the mean time.

“Move out of the way Doctor, you’re not helping.” I shooed the therapist away from the door, “William, I’m going to come in, alright? I built another entrance into your room, the door is on the wall on the right, and I am going to come in thirty seconds after I have finished speaking. I will bring Loki with me, and I am going to sit with you. You will be perfectly safe brother mine, I promise.”

I had to explain everything before I did it, to not scare Will- _Sherlock._ It was always best to be clear and concise with him, especially if he was hitting his head on doors in a feeble attempt to get his brain to do as he wanted.

“There’s a second door?!” Hardwick followed me through Sherlock’s living room, where I had specifically built a secret door to the sensory room, opened by taking out a specific book on the shelf.

“Of course there is. I couldn't allow him to be in there by himself with no other access to him in times like this now could I?” I had suspected something like this happening, so of course I had put in safety precautions. Getting Sherlock out of the way long enough to do it had been a ridiculous task, but apparently, completely worth it.

“Stay here. Loki comes with me.” I stopped the therapist from going inside, this was a time for just comfort, not for reminder that therapists were still circling. Though, I wasn't really one for comfort... I would have to do for now. Sherlock currently had no other choice if he wanted to avoid having a complete shutdown.

Slowly, I stepped into the room, letting Loki follow behind me. At least the dog wasn't rushing over like most animals, I supposed it had _some_ intelligence, or possibly just got training. Once I was close enough to Sherlock, I sat next to him, close enough that he could feel my presence, far enough away so I wasn't crowding him.

But before I got a word in, Sherlock had jumped into my arms, his head pressing into my chest while his hands clutched desperately in my jacket. If he was currently capable of speech, he would have been begging me to make all of this go away, I could tell.

“Shhh brother mine, shhh. I’m here now. You’re safe, and not alone. None of those people can get you now.” I neglected to say exactly _why_ his torturers were not around to get to him anymore, figuring that it was a) obvious and b) not very therapeutic to say so in this situation.

“You are safe Sherlock, I can promise you that. You are safe. There is no need to panic any further; you are in one of the safest places in the country.” I tried to calm him, only getting the panicked breathing turn into heaving sobs.

I did count that as a good thing though, Sherlock didn't cry during the lead up to shut down, not typically anyway.

“Would you like your weighted blanket?” I didn't get a reply, “Loki, get the weighted blanket.” Better safe than sorry though. At the least it would be useful to have on hand.

The dog seemed to catch my drift, trotting over to get his owner’s blanket and drag it back, thankfully not leaving much dog saliva on it. The last thing I needed was dog fur and saliva all over my already wrinkled suit, even if I wasn't leaving the house today.

“I’m going to wrap it around your shoulders, alright?” still talking everything through, no surprises, nothing to put Sherlock on alert, just like childhood all over again.

In some ways, this was distinctly like our childhood, with me playing Mummy while Mummy didn't have a clue on how to handle her son. She had never been good with handling his meltdowns, she had gotten some bits right, like trying to give him a routine, but she did it in the wrong way. Usually she ended up repeating his routine and such things to him while gripping onto my poor brother’s tiny body so tightly he could hardly breathe. To say the least that hadn’t helped.

What was really needed was gentle words, explaining everything going on before making any sudden moves, and generally being _calm._ Calm was good, calm was... calming, for lack of a better word. Sherlock responded well to calm, careful movements, giving him enough time to indicate that he didn't want something before it happened.

Wrapping the blanket around him, again I was transported back to that troubled boy of yesteryear. Only this time, it was when he was in hospital after his collapse caused by grief over Redbeard. The room had caused a complete sensory overload, and our parents fussing, coupled with the complete change in surroundings had set off such a bad reaction I was surprised the doctors hadn’t sedated him to calm him down. It was only me who could calm him again, giving him his weighted blanket, talking through what had happened very quietly with him, giving him time to adjust. He had cried on me that day, sobbed for a heart shattering amount of time, I hadn’t been able to do anything to help him then, but I was determined to make sure this never happened again, no matter what the cost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm apologising now if this seems horrifically OOC, it wasn't meant to be at all, but I got carried away, and really wanted the Holmes brothers to finally have a bonding moment, so this kinda happened.   
> In better news I should be able to update on Sunday's from now on, the decorating is nearly finished and even if it's not done by the end of the week, my nan is getting internet at hers soon, so I'll be able to update from hers!


	208. Chapter 208

207 Sherlock's POV

I clung to Mycroft for what must have been hours, burying myself in his chest, hiding from the world and the memories and _everything_ until it felt like reality had righted itself. The whole time, Mycroft held onto me, talking to me gently, like he did when we were children. He didn't once let go either, or shift his position or complain about me interrupting his work. He actually sat there with me, holding on and talking to me like it was normal for me to sob into his chest in a hysterical panic.

It was, it was nice, I guessed. Mycroft didn't do much comforting these days, hadn’t for a long while actually. Not since after... well after he taught me to shut down my emotions and to control myself, after Redbeard died. I hadn’t really needed him then, not to comfort me anyway. _Probably only comforted you at any time to stop the screaming and to keep Mummy happy. Mycroft isn’t that nice, and he certainly doesn’t do affection._ He didn't, he did control and order. _See, he’s still restoring order to the house by shutting you up and preventing another shut down. Treating you like even more of a child isn’t exactly pleasant._

“Calm down brother mine, there’s no need to be tense anymore.” Mycroft told me, no hint of annoyance in his tone. He could have been hiding it, but it didn't seem like it...

“I can hear you thinking Sherlock, and thinking is making you tense.” He continued, lifting his head off the top of mine.

“I, I like to think.” I mumbled out, feeling a bit sluggish. Like half of my brain was still shut down.

“I know you do, but thinking isn’t doing you any good in this moment. You nearly had another shut down, the time for thinking is over for a while.” Mycroft answered, slowly relaxing his grip, _you’re coming online again, no need for big brother to hold on to you._

“Don’t think I can.” I scrubbed a hand over my face, feeling tear track marks.

“Debatable. But at the least, let’s not go into that Mind Palace of yours, it’s causing a bit of trouble.” Mycroft let me sit up for myself. I half wanted to hold onto him again, hideaway in his arms for a while longer, but it wouldn’t do any good. I was calmer now, didn't need to be held in Mycroft’s arms, especially when he’d probably lord it over me for a while longer. He hadn’t started yet, didn't mean he wouldn’t.

“Was trying to get rid of the trouble.” I was supposed to sorting this trouble out; today could count as a complete disaster on that front.

“I know, maybe some revisions are needed to your plans. Or maybe you’re thinking too much about it all and rushing in too fast, in a desperate attempt to go home.” Mycroft suggested, he still wasn't being cruel or condescending. I was half expecting him to turn round and use it all against me. That was what usually happened when he was around for something like this. He liked to swoop in when I was emotionally compromised and give his usual ‘caring is not an advantage, lock out the emotions’ speech, or give a weird metaphorical lecture on whatever he felt was needed. Here though, he was just... being _nice_ I guessed.

“Things can’t be rushed Sherlock, you need to be patient with yourself. Pushing so hard isn’t going to work on things like this.” And there was the lecture; _he can’t resist being the ‘Smart One.’_

“I don’t need a lecture right now.” I was too tired for a lecture, I felt _exhausted,_ and like I needed to have a long lie down to recover. A meltdown/panic attack mix was not something I was about to repeat again, or at least hoped I wouldn’t anyway.

“I know, but I’m telling you to be patient and to stop overdoing it, because it will not end well. You are ill Sherlock, and have been through so much in the past few years, you are allowed to take some time to recovering. The world isn’t about to end.” Mycroft told me, that was almost... _nice_ of him.

“Only because you’re running it.” I couldn't even tell if I was dreaming this or not. Mycroft wasn't this nice usually, he hadn’t been in years. I didn't understand.

“Quite possibly. But that means that you don’t have to rush back at once. Take your time, you are allowed to take some time to recover. Nobody is going to be disappointed if you don’t magically break this phobia on the first few tries.” Mycroft answered, this had to be some sort of weird panic induced dream, Mycroft was never usually this nice. Usually he liked to push me into being better, into being at the top of my game, and was disappointed in anything less than perfection. Perfection which I could never achieve in his eyes, which he told me with regularity.

“You’re being far too nice.” I had to say it, because he was, and it was _weird._

“Would you rather have me treating you like a child?” Mycroft raised an eyebrow.

“No.” That would have driven me madder, “But you’re still being too nice. What happened to the brother who was always telling me that the East Wind would get me?” that had been a recurring childhood lecture. Usually in the middle of an argument, or either during a meltdown or after the shutdowns for that matter, when I was coherent enough to fully understand.

“Still in here. But he has decided to be a little more... understanding given the circumstances.” _Well I think that means that he thinks you’re being pathetic and is taking mercy for once. Possibly to make sure you eventually get out of his hair._

“I think I prefer you being mean.” Mycroft being nice and understanding was weird to say the least. I wasn't sure I could stand it; it was completely against his usual self. Even in a situation like this, he didn't stick around after I recovered; he usually left me to it after I was put back on track. And he certainly didn't talk to me like this afterwards.

“Most people would find that very strange brother mine.” Mycroft gave a small smile.

“We’re not most people.” I was emotionally repressed and had barely any sense on how to handle human beings, and Mycroft was so emotionally cut off it was a wonder that he could even make facial expressions.

“That we aren’t. Doesn’t mean we can’t sometimes give in to being human. So slow down, you’re not about to get kicked out of the house. Get your head on straight and work at a better pace. Baker Street will still be standing when you get back.” Mycroft stood up, brushing down his clothes, not getting anywhere with getting rid of Loki’s shed fur.

“I definitely prefer you emotionally cut off.” I answered, making Mycroft smirk a bit.

“Don’t we all brother mine, don’t we all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Turns out we're not finished redecorating, so I'm quickly updating, using a phone as a wifi hotspot. Hopefully if this happens again, the wifi will be working around here!


	209. Chapter 209

208 Sherlock's POV

When Mycroft was done confusing me, he left and was soon replaced with John, who was a much better distraction. He didn't try to be confusing, or act like I was a disappointment for failing, or anything. He was simply John, who suggested that we got some air by taking Loki for a walk, to give us all some time to clear our heads. I accepted his offer, thinking that maybe it would wake me up a bit, get rid of this sluggish feeling quicker, put this morning behind me.

It worked to a degree, I mean, I felt better afterwards. But I wasn't completely okay. My hands were still plagued by a minor tremor, my thoughts weren’t coming as quickly as they should be, and I still felt desperate to stick to some sort of schedule. Say, walking for forty five minutes, making it back inside my 6pm, having our usual conversations for a further hour, before having dinner at 7pm, John leaving by 8.30pm. I liked the solid feeling of a plan, knowing exactly what was going to happen and when. It felt nice to have a routine, to know exactly what was going to happen to me, what I could be expected to be doing, and how I was meant to do it. It was comforting, and after today, I wanted nothing more than to be comforted and feel safe inside a familiar routine.

Luckily, we stuck to it for the most part; even though we hadn’t actually discussed it before we set off outside. The walk lasted fifteen minutes longer, but everything else was bang on time. And because it was Sunday, there was a traditional roast dinner on the table too, complete with all the usual trimmings and everything else to be expected there. I wasn't very hungry, but I managed a few bites of chicken and several potatoes. If only just to keep my energy levels up a bit.

Mycroft didn't mention what had happened today to John, he had changed his suit though, so he was as impeccable as usual. I had ruined his suit today, leaving tear marks and creases that would take a lot of work to get out, and Loki had covered him in dog fur too. Anybody looking at the old suit would have been able to see that something had happened today, and while I knew that John knew that something had happened to me today, I was glad to not have the visible reminders in Mycroft’s suit.

Eventually, John left, wishing us both a good night, leaving me and Mycroft alone again in the dining room, with Loki softly snoring next to my leg. It was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. _Perfect time for a proper lecture on doing better next time._

“Sherlock, what happened today...” Mycroft started, _here we go._

“I’d rather not talk about it.” I answered, poking at a ball of stuffing, watching it roll around the plate.

“So would I, but I would like to say that it is... commendable that you picked yourself up so well afterwards. It was quite good of you to do so.” Mycroft looked pained to say it.

“Don’t strain yourself Mycroft, your nice filter has run out for the year.” Mocking, I could do mocking right now. Mocking was normal for our conversations, not _praise,_ even in this situation. Mycroft hadn’t praised me in a _long_ while, not since before we got Loki.

“All I am saying is that it was commendable that you got up and carried on after a harsh reaction. Nothing nice about it, just an observation.” Mycroft answered, it still somehow sounded like subtle praise.

“I didn't know you had taken to listening to Anthea’s advice about your interactions with me.” it was clear that it was Anthea’s doing. I had overheard her many times telling Mycroft that he should say something nice, she was like the guardian angel of brotherly conversations, only she never got listened to.

“I still don’t.” Mycroft answered, calmly taking a sip of wine.

“Of course not, now can we change the subject, before one of us has an aneurism?” I _really_ was not comfortable with all this emotional talk with Mycroft. I much preferred us arguing and sending barbed insults at each other all day. It was what I was used to, what I excelled at, and I much preferred to hear that than Mycroft’s praise. It felt _weird_ to hear it. _Even though you’ve been seeking it for most of your life._ That was beside the point. Mycroft didn't do praise, not normally, and he was only doing it now because either Anthea had told him to do it, or he was just trying to keep me from having a full blown meltdown which would wreck havoc with his paper work. He had always moaned that listening to me melting down had been the worst distraction known to mankind.

“Yes let’s...” Silence fell instead of conversation. What the hell did I say to a brother who had basically held me through a huge meltdown, stopped it from being a catatonic shutdown? What did you say to someone after that? Especially when that someone was _Mycroft?_

“I’m going to go and... read for a while. Goodnight Mycroft.” I decided to escape instead, _coward’s way out,_ better than awkward silence.

“Goodnight Sherlock.” Mycroft answered, going back to the newspaper he had been idly flicking through earlier.

I got up, heading towards the door, but stopped there, feeling like I should say something. Just, maybe a thanks or something? I didn't know. This was all so weird and I had no idea on how to deal with it.

“Mycroft,” I turned to look at my brother again, still as calm and there, as I thought he would be. I guessed, he was kinda there a lot. Maybe not in the right way, but he was there.

“Yes Sherlock?” Mycroft looked back at me, expression unreadable.

“Thanks, for... for, you know. Today. I wouldn’t... it helped.” I couldn't look at him as I said it, feeling embarrassed and _wrong._ We didn't do emotional conversations at all; I hoped that this would be the last for the rest of our lives.

“Of course, Mummy would have had my head if I hadn’t intervened.” Mycroft answered, always hiding behind Mummy in that respect.

“Wouldn’t want that, I’d have to deal with her fussing alone.” I smiled a bit, fidgeting on the spot.

“Couldn’t have that, who knows what would happen.” We both winced, the two of us thinking _permanent meltdowns_ at the same time, “Now go to bed Sherlock. It’s time for your evening reading session.”

So I went, glad to get out of the uncomfortable conversation, but also reasonably glad I had gotten that off my chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for all the comments/kudos, they mean so much!


	210. Chapter 210

209 Sherlock's POV

Thankfully, the next morning it seemed like everything that had happened with Mycroft hadn’t changed our relationship. He wasn't lording my weak moments against me, or lecturing me on how to get better sooner. Instead he ignored it, acted like it never happened. _Only because emotions are difficult to talk about. And you don’t do emotions. Or affection for that matter._ Probably, still, I was glad for the reprieve, I spent enough time considering my emotions; I didn't need it from my brother too.

The closest Mycroft actually came to mention anything was when he said that he was working from home again today, something about top secret paperwork that needed sorting out, that couldn't even be taken from the house in case another person saw it. It was a clear lie, because no paperwork was _that_ secret, and if it was, it wouldn’t be in Mycroft's house instead of his office. I took it to mean that he was telling me that he was on hand if I needed him again.

“How fun, ever get bored of paper pushing?” _I’ll be fine, we aren’t experimenting today._

“I do what has to be done.” _I’ll still be here if you need me._

“If it floats your boat.” _Thanks, but I’ll be fine._

“Such a common cliché brother mine, do be more original.” Mycroft hid behind his newspaper, ending the conversation.

“It pays to have such phrases, helps you blend in during investigations.” I answered, pushing an egg around the plate. Whatever happened to simple toast without all the unnecessary extras?

“Planning on going out investigating soon then?” Mycroft raised an eyebrow.

“At some point in the future yes.” Because I was going to get back out investigating. I was going to beat this water thing, I was going to beat everything messed up in my head and I was going to get back out in London, investigating crimes with John. I had gone through hell and back again, I wasn't going to let some damn memories get in the way of living my life again.

“Good, the detective inspector will be pleased.” Mycroft offered a small smile.

“One can hope he will be.” I answered, finishing breakfast and heading off to do some reading before Hardwick arrived.

I found that reading scientific journals was a great way to pass time at the moment; I was finding out new information and occupying my mind for a while. Some things I was starting to want to try out, and planning out experiments was proving to be a good distraction when my dread of therapy started to rise up again.

Today’s therapy session was going to be horrendous; I could tell that much before Hardwick had even arrived. We were probably going to talk about _feelings_ and _memories_ and what exactly had happened in that bathroom. And where did I even start with that? That we had put so much significance on this that the second I woke up that morning I was terrified of going under that water and _drowning?_ That the entire time I had been terrified that none of it was real, that all of this I had conjured up in my mind to escape Serbian torture? That the flashback had been so intense I felt like I couldn't breathe or move? That even in my real sensory room, I couldn't calm down because I had been _that_ terrified?

The thought of even explaining that made my stomach churn, this was why I _hated_ therapy, there was so much introspection and talking about emotions in so much detail, and remembering everything that had happened out there, it was _awful._ At this point I’d be happy to just forget it all and learn my own coping mechanisms at Baker Street, dealing with less intense flashbacks during bath time and all the rest of it.

Hardwick though, was unfortunately insistent on talking about it all, about everything that had happened yesterday and why. It still put my teeth on edge to talk about it at all, having a massive meltdown was not something I was proud of, let alone having my _brother_ comfort me, too. We weren’t... we didn't _do_ things like that usually. Not since we were children anyway, I wasn't... we just didn't do it anymore. We bottled up our emotions; pretending things never happened and moved on. Clinging to each other and using the other as a living comfort blanket wasn't in the brotherly job description, and seeing as this was the third time that Mycroft had helped me in this way in the last year was putting my teeth on edge.

“Would you say that that is also a control thing?” Hardwick asked, “As in, you needed your brother to help you to regain control over your own body again? It’s not something you usually do is it?”

“No, we don’t usually do anything like that. He usually lectures and acts high and mighty, I usually ignore him. We don’t _comfort_ one another.” I didn't see why that was important.

“I see, and that really grates on you, doesn’t it?” Hardwick continued, why did this even matter?

“Why should it matter what I think about _that_ part of yesterday, and not anything else?” why was she focusing on this exactly? There was nothing to help therapy along in that part of yesterday.

“I’m just asking because you seem more concerned about your brother coming to your rescue than you do about coming seriously close to another shut down, something I understand you haven’t actually experienced in years.” Hardwick explained, keeping solid eye contact with me, not letting me escape this.

“Shut downs I can live with. I’ll snap out of it eventually.” I could deal with Aspergers related symptoms; I had been dealing with them my entire life. Dealing with my brother going out of his way to be nice, that was something I was having trouble dealing with.

“But you can’t deal with you brother being kind?” Hardwick raised an eyebrow, similar to Mycroft earlier.

“No, he doesn’t do kind; he does acting ice cold and unfeeling. We don’t _hug_ or anything, we insult and move on. And that’s not changing, before you get any ideas. I’m perfectly happy with how we work now, I don’t want it changed.” I couldn't stand the idea of Mycroft being perfectly _nice_ to me all the time. It would be _wrong,_ and with his over protective streak I dreaded to think what it would mean for me in the end. _Mummy 2.0, armed with cameras on you all the time._ Dear Lord no.

“Okay, okay, if you’re fine with it. Are you sure there’s no issues you need to talk about concerning Mycroft?” Hardwick asked, _there’s an entire file filled with ‘reasons why Mycroft is a dickhead.’_

“There is nothing to discuss concerning my brother.” I was not going into that file _ever,_ it was too thick and I was not going to spend yet more time talking about my _feelings_ about how my brother lied to me about my dog and made me feel like a worthless pile of crap for most of our childhood.

“Well if the need ever arises...” Hardwick started.

“I can talk with you yes I know. Can we get on with things now, before the session runs out of time and this gets spilled over into tomorrow?” I wanted this talking _over_ with, I was done with it. If we could just get to finding a way to stop all this fear response crap so I could actually manage a shower without wanting to pass out that would be _lovely._ I missed London, I wanted to go home damn it, so this needed to _hurry up_ and move on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments/kudos!  
> If anybody is interested in my blogging skills, I post to two different websites. One is my own blog, which is here - http://writeabledreams.blogspot.co.uk/ and the other is something that a classmate set up, so our friendship group has one central place to share work, here's the link to that too - http://thewritersjournal.org/  
> It would mean a lot if you checked either, or both out, so please if you can spare the time, check them out!


	211. Chapter 211

210 Sherlock's POV

Hardwick made me go over exactly what I felt while that shower was on, and what was going through my head in the sensory room too; to get an idea as to what exactly freaked me out. It took over an hour to explain it all, not including the breaks I had when I got panicky. I was exhausted by the end of it, almost wanting to pass out so I didn't have to deal with it anymore. I hadn’t slept much last night, this was becoming a nightmare.

“Alright, to me, from what you’ve described, it wasn't the shower that scared you off _per se._ You were sort of seeing three different realities, right? You were in the bathroom with me, while also flashing back to Serbia, while also trying to hide in your mental sensory room,” I nodded at the explanation, “Which I think is what caused the problem. You were over sensitised, which can cause anybody issues, let alone someone on the spectrum, and when you add the fear response to the shower running, it’s no wonder you panicked like you did.” _Thanks Hardwick for explaining that, not like we didn't understand that already._

“Got that thanks.” I wasn't a complete idiot; I know what happened in my mind.

“I’m just summarising, not calling you an idiot or anything. Also try not to be so defensive, I’m only trying to help here.” Hardwick sighed, “Anyway, I think that that was far too much stimulation for you to take at once. And it freaked you out, hence why you had such an intense reaction. I think we should work on cutting back some of those layers of stimulation, or at least figure out a way for you to separate them out and get you to a point where you can ground yourself in reality.”

“What about my sensory room? I need that when I get stressed.” I wasn't in reality if I was in my mental sensory room.

“Good point.” Hardwick bit at her lip, “Right, maybe we can work on giving you elements of your sensory room? So maybe we can sort it out so you can just use the most calming element instead of trying to imagine the whole room. Obviously we’ll keep the room inside your Mind Palace for when you _really_ need it, but for now, shall we have a go at using elements from the sensory room during stressful situations?”

“Sounds like a plan.” I guessed it sounded alright, if it helped I wasn't going to knock it.

“Great. So what would you say is the most effective thing in your room? The dimmed lights, the weighted blanket, the music?” Hardwick asked, going from thoughtful to having all her attention straight on me, waiting to work with me through this.

_Well at least that’s better than most therapists. You’d have been drugged up to the eyeballs by now if you were anywhere else._

I thought you had fucked off for the most part? Go away.

“Erm, the music. I’ve always had an affinity for it.” what with using the violin as a method of coping for most of my life, and the music was something I could definitely bring up easily in my mind. I had a whole room dedicated to music; an entire symphony orchestra existed behind a door in my Mind Palace.

“I thought you would say that.” Hardwick smirked a little, “That’ll also be the easiest to bring up am I right? You can bring it up practically instantly.”

“Yes, it’s not that hard. I just have to think of a song and it pops into my head, just like everybody else.” I was pretty sure that _everybody_ could do that. It wasn't just special to me. _You’re weird enough that almost anything you do could be special to only you._

“Good, but I mean can you visualise the entire song _very_ clearly, can you remember your entire playlist on demand? And do you have to go into a room to find it?” Hardwick asked, her pen twiddling between her fingers.

“I have to go to a specific room to find it, but when I go in, I can listen to the entire playlist in order in perfect clarity.” I answered, I hadn’t tried it with this specific playlist, but I had listened to it enough to know exactly what was coming next.

“What’s in that room exactly?” Hardwick questioned, she was not leaving a stone unturned here was she?!

“A full symphony orchestra.” I replied, I’d put all the best players I had ever seen inside, to give the absolute best quality of performance I could.

“Wow, that fits in there?” Hardwick looked surprise.

“It’s a very large palace; some rooms are bigger on the inside.” I shrugged; it wasn't that special really, the mind didn't have a limit on how big its memory storage was. Not when it was put into the Method of Loci.

“I knew you reminded me of The Doctor for a reason,” Hardwick joked... I didn't understand.

“If that’s one of the shows John keeps talking about, I’ve deleted it long ago and have no idea what you’re on about.” I hadn’t wanted to, but I had had to delete something while on the run, apparently that show got the cut.

“I’m sure he’ll reintroduce you later on.” Hardwick laughed a bit when I rolled my eyes, “Anyway, is there any way you can make a shortcut to that specific playlist, or a way to make it play without you being inside with the orchestra? Being in there with them will probably only cause you more distress by repeating the clashing realities problem.”

“I can put a shortcut in the foyer.” I didn't doubt that I could make a short cut, it would be fairly easy. And once it started playing, I could hear it playing outside the Mind Palace too.

“Great. Could you possibly do that today please? I won’t ask you to do it now, but if you could get that set up as soon as possibly that’ll be great.” Hardwick asked.

“I can get that done before I go to bed.” It wouldn’t take me long, I was getting used to rebuilding and running around the Palace. As long as I didn't run into anything sinister while inside, I could get that fixed up easily.

“That would be brilliant. And after you’ve done that, we can start work on using that it in stressful situations. You know, I really think we’re onto something here.” Hardwick smiled excitedly.

“Really?” it was a music switch, was it really going to help that much?

“Yes of course. Because once we sort out your water phobia, and we know that this technique works, we can use it in other situations. Situations like crime scenes, and large crowds, anything you struggle with. It’s all about figuring out a method of calming, and then working out how to apply it. After that, it’s all down to figuring out the kinks, and then you’re flying.” Hardwick smiled, I _really_ liked the idea of flying if that meant going home again...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again I'm guessing at what's inside Sherlock's Mind Palace, but if he can fit Victorian London in there, I'm sure there's room for a symphony orchestra!   
> Also I couldn't resist the Doctor Who reference in there, it was crying out to be said!


	212. Chapter 212

211 Sherlock's POV

I built in my new music switch that evening, just before I went to bed, as I had told Hardwick I would do. I didn't really have time to do it before hand; I had been too busy with John. We had played a few games of chess that day, John losing miserably every time. He beat me at Operation though, the man had nerves of damn _steel,_ and while I could wipe the floor with Mycroft, John was just that bit better. I didn't mind that much though, it made for a good team, me with my strategising and brains, John with his steady hand. We made for a good team, a team that would hopefully one day get back to what they should have been doing for the past three years.

Anyway, as I lay in bed that night, Loki’s head resting on my stomach like a nice reminder that I was safe, I built in the new music switch. It was located in the Mind Palace foyer, just inside the door, so I could run in and switch it on in a hurry without much thought. I thought that that would be best, in case I was too freaked out to go searching. Hardwick approved either way, which was a nice sign.

With that in place, I ran a few tests. When I woke up after a nightmare, I ran inside the Palace and flicked the switch before I did anything else. Music played through my head the second I turned it on, the playlist starting from the beginning and playing through until I told it to stop. It worked to a degree, as in I didn't think it would do anything on its own, but when combined with Loki and my usual calm down routines, I calmed quicker. To me, that was a success.

But with success, came the _actual_ reason why we were putting these things in. After I’d proven to myself that my music switch worked, Hardwick brought up trying again with the shower. The idea quite frankly scared me. After last time, I didn't want a repeat of that. That panic, that... I got too close to a complete shutdown. I couldn't shut down again, I didn't _want_ to. I acted like I was fine and used to it, and I was at least used to it, but being trapped inside my head like that, needing someone to come and help me back out again, I _hated_ it.

“Sherlock, you can’t run away forever because of what happened last time.” Hardwick sighed, _well dur._

“I know, I know that. It just... I don’t want a repeat of last time.” I whispered, adjusting Loki’s collar. It looked wonky; I should fix it so it was straight again. Couldn’t have my dog looking scruffy, he had to blend in with his surroundings, look like he belonged with me.

“I understand. But we have to try with these new methods. They’ll help and hopefully, at the very least, lessen the multiple realities sensation you had.” Hardwick explained, I nodded, resigning myself.

“Give me a few days, to... to ready myself I guess.” I’d have liked a few days prewarning, so I could mentally prepare myself. So I could try to calm myself as much as possible, go through what was going to happen in my head, get my damn brain to understand that I was _safe._

“Of course. Shall we say we have a go on Sunday?” Hardwick suggested softly, that gave me three days.

“Three days time is good.” I answered, burying my head in Loki’s fur; the dog sat still and let me for the most part.

“Great, shall I phone John in advance, so he knows that you’ll be... _on edge,_ for a while?” Hardwick asked, she had done the same last time. John, for his part, had taken it in his stride and hadn’t mentioned it to me unless I wanted him to. He didn't even comment on the situation when he came in to find me half catatonic and exhausted after that failed attempt.

“Yes. Best give him some warning.” _Always have to warn him about everything. There’s nobody else in the world who has to be warned about their so called best friend’s behaviour._ That was the joy of being... being... **_mentally ill_** I guess. No bloody privacy and everybody who gets in contact with you has to be warned so they don’t prod in the wrong place and set you off.

“You don’t have to tell him, you know. You are allowed to have some privacy in this.” Hardwick told me.

“I know. Still, should tell him, so he knows.” I sighed, it was better to just make sure John knew. That way he wasn't going to say the wrong thing, and would understand when he came in to find me in a state. Again.

“Alright, I’ll phone him after the session, so he’s warned... Can you think of anything that John could do to help in the situation? We could bring him in to help with your phobia if you wish.” Hardwick suggested, not happening. Not happening at all. I didn't want John to see this part of me. It was stupid, after everything else, but I just... I didn't want him to see me scared of _water._ I’d lost so much of my armour already, he’d seen so much of me break down, I needed him to retain some sort of image of me that wasn't broken into pieces.

“No. I don’t need John for every single part of therapy.” Not that I was telling Hardwick that, I’d just get another character analysis on _why_ I needed to be seen as indestructible. Or at least less fragile than the average human being. _It’s all just another attempt to keep people away from the Asperger’s._ Well done brain, telling me my own thoughts again, wasn't like I didn't know that already.

“I think he could really help Sherlock, he’s worked wonders with you in the past.” Hardwick continued, I wasn't going to be swayed on this one though.

“No, we keep on bringing him into this constantly, and he’s not the bloody therapist in this. I can deal by myself; I don’t need him for this... Save him for the first trips out in London.” I thought that would shut her up.

“Well that was the plan anyway as it happens. But alright, if you don’t want John to join us, he doesn’t have to join us.” Hardwick shrugged it off.

“He’d be another thing to look at and deduce anyway. It would be distracting. I need _less_ stimulation, not more.” I finished off the conversation, hoping that that would give her a plausible explanation, that was actually a half truth. I did need less stimulation in this, not more. Anything I could do to stave off extra stimulation the better in this case.

I usually needed distractions, but this time, this time I just had to face it head on and remember that _it wasn't real,_ as many times as it took before I realised that I was safe again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments/kudos, they really do mean a lot! I love knowing what you guys think of this!


	213. Chapter 213

212 Sherlock's POV                                                                       

Three days passed too slowly, far too slowly. The tension built inside me so much I was almost tighter than the strings on my violin, which I was currently taking my fear out on. I was so scared, I was so _damn_ scared. I shouldn’t have been, this was safety, it was a shower, not a torture chamber. The torture was over, why couldn't I get over it? I needed to get over it. I needed to go home, I _wanted_ to go home. This wasn't home, I wasn't _home._

John tried to help, but he wasn't that useful in this matter. He tried to reassure me that everything was going to be okay, that I had nothing to be scared of, but I couldn't believe him. I was so damn _scared,_ scared of the memories, scared of having another complete breakdown, scared of all of it. I didn't know how to handle this. It was all a mess, I had to do this, but I didn't want to. It was scaring me so much, scaring me too much to even think properly. There had been so many memories there, and now I couldn't, I couldn't do this!

“We can delay things Sherlock; it’s whenever you’re ready.” Hardwick promised the morning of our planned experiment.

“No, no I-I can do this.” _you have to do this more like._ “I can. I just... give me a minute.” I could feel my chest tightening, Loki licked at my hand but I couldn't, I couldn't _breathe._ I couldn't remember, I couldn't remember again. We, we had worked so hard at desensitisation, but the memories were still there, they still happened. I’d still; I’d still been under the water. I hadn’t... it had _hurt._

“Alright, I think you need to sit down.” Hardwick helped me sit, Loki continually licked at my face, reminding me that I was safe, I really was, but I couldn't... I didn't feel it. I didn't feel safe from my own mind, I couldn't control the memories, I couldn't control it. I wasn't in control, God I wasn't in control, I had to be in control!

“Sherlock, Sherlock listen to me. I think it’s time to flick the switch.” Hardwick told me, yeah, yeah flick the switch. Get the music going, sounded good.

Mentally, I ran inside my Mind Palace, flicking the switch, letting my music playlist start to waft around my head as I ran back outside again. The notes helped as I started timing my breathing to the soft beats, keeping myself in time with it all. I could do this, I could do this. It was just a shower, just a bit of water. Water I was in control of. I could turn it on and off, control the flow; keep out of it completely if I wanted to. I had the power here, not some torturer or anyone else. It was _me_ in control. I was always in control now. I had the power, no-one else. _Me._ I could do this, I could do this. If I did this then Hardwick would consider letting me go back to London for a bit. I could go _home_ for a while if I did this.

I could see Mrs Hudson, and she could cook us some dinner, or we could order in and watch crap TV together. The three of us, me, Mrs Hudson and John. She would tell us all about the latest gossip about Mrs Turner’s married ones, and not mind if I said the wrong thing, or nothing at all. She would be loving and kind to me, and not push me to talk about anything if I wanted, and, and... Maybe Lestrade would come in with a case, or he would join us for some sort of movie night with films I guessed the ending to within five minutes. We would all have fun, we would all be _happy._ And life would be normal. All I had to do was face the water and learn that this specific water wasn't going to hurt me. I could do that. I could... I could do that right? _No, you didn't last time, what makes you think this time will be different?_

I could do this, I could do this, I could do this.

Slowly, I got up, shuffling into that damn dreaded bathroom, letting Loki leap into the tub and grabbing the shower head.

“I am in control. I am in control. I control the water, it doesn’t control me.” I told myself, over and over and over, cranking up the music volume in my head.

My hand reached out to turn on the tap, the whole limb trembling in fear, but I pushed through it. I’d never stop shaking through this, I knew that, but I had to get through it. This was important, I had to get through it and move on. I had gotten through literally everything else; I could get through this too. If I could get through water-boarding in Serbia in the first place, I could get through washing my damn dog.

“I’m in control, I control the water. I’m safe, I’m _safe._ ” I promised in a whisper, finally getting the water flowing. Loki’s fur darkened under the torrent, the dog not seeming to care much about it. If anything, he seemed quite content getting wet. Seeing Loki happy helped, I could use that to solidify that I was safe. This was England. If we weren’t safe then Loki wouldn’t be happy. He was happy under the water, so we had to be safe, right? This was safe... the water was safe wasn't it?!

Dread twisted through my stomach, squeezing my lungs. I couldn't, no I _could_ do this. It was just a feeling left over from memories. I could deal with memories. Memories were _nothing,_ I could overcome them, I had overcome a lot more than this. Just memories, just memories. Nothing to memories. I could shove them away because I was safe. **London, London, I’m in London.**

“You’re doing well Sherlock.” Hardwick smiled, setting about helping me with Loki’s fur, lathering it up with shampoo. No shampoo in Serbia. Just dirty water. This was clean, soapy water. No barrels either, or damp and dark cells. Just a well lit, well furbished bathroom. I wasn't in Serbia, nothing like this in Serbia.

I wasn't going to die here. I wasn't going to be killed, or forced under the water, or anything. I was going to be safe. This was safe. I was _safe,_ I was okay. I was okay. I had control and was safe. It was okay, all of this was okay. Safe. Definitely safe. Of course I was safe. This was England. Not Serbia. No drowning here. Nope, no drowning, no forcing under water. None of it. I was doing it. I was managing it.

I was _managing_ this.                                           

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up, I'm getting a whole load of essays soon, and I'm also writing a children's book for a competition that needs to be finished by April, so if I miss a chapter or two, I apologise! I'll try my best, but if I miss some stuff, blame my essays!


	214. Chapter 214

213 Sherlock's POV

There was... I was _scared,_ but I was _managing_ it. I was actually... I could do this. I _was_ doing it, controlling exactly what was going on with the water and not running for the hills. My heart was still pounding inside my chest hysterically, every instinct in my body was screaming for me to _run_ as fast as I could out of this bathroom, but I was staying put. I could ignore it and carry on, I was actually managing this. My God, I was actually washing Loki with _water_ and not having a panic attack/flash back/complete melt down.

And when I shut the water off and dried my dog’s fur, I was fine. And I was fine the next time I gave him a bath too. I was _fine_ with him. I could stand being around water when I was with him. Surely this was not all breathing exercises and mental music playlists, right? I wasn't... this wasn't right. I should not have been able to do this that easily, not after last time. Not after that complete meltdown, it should not have been this easy.

“What can I say? You’re improving Sherlock, and making great progress. You should be proud of yourself.” Hardwick encouraged, letting me dry Loki’s fur by myself.

“But, it shouldn’t have been _that_ easy. I thought... it shouldn’t have been so simple.” I was sure it shouldn’t have been that simple...

“It wasn't simple, you were very scared, but you were proving a point to yourself, constantly reminding yourself that you were in control, that you were safe. By doing that, you were reassuring yourself and not letting your mind get lost in memories, I think that kept you grounded in the here and now.” Hardwick explained.

“I... I was doing that out loud?” I hadn’t realised I was speaking out loud the whole time.

“Nothing wrong with that. If it helps, it helps, I wouldn’t knock it for now.” Hardwick shrugged, leaning back against the wall.

“I guess.” I bit my lip, still so confused. After last time I was sure it was all going to end in tears and potential full blown shut downs, not this relatively easy try out. I was expecting that I was going to have to pause, or leave the room, or possibly even pass out this time. I hadn’t, I just wasn't used to managing to do things so damn quickly.

“What happens now?” I asked, I didn't know where we went from here.

“In terms of the rest of your day, I think you’re allowed to do as you see fit. If you want to talk some more about this, I’m more than happy to, but I’d also be quite happy to let you do your own thing for a while if you’d like. In terms of the rest of this part of recovery, I think Loki needs one more bath, and then we’ll figure out a way to step it up a notch, until you start really feeling safe again under a shower, or in a bath for that matter.” Now that made fear twist back into my stomach again.

_She’s going to push you under water at some point, hold you down make you fight her. Repeat the process over and over until you’re numb to it!_

“Now that’s just ridiculous.” That was utterly preposterous! No therapy would ever be like _that!_

_And why not? Therapists have done worse; you’ve heard the stories about ECT. This is just extreme exposure therapy; both are dangerous procedures, what would be the difference?_

Because stuff like that just wasn't _done,_ unless you were having therapy with a complete sadist who was probably a serial killer or something on the side. It wasn't happening; it would be something simpler than that, submerging a body part or something.

“Don’t you feel ready to take the next step?” Hardwick asked, giving me a suspicious look.

“Not right now no.” Whatever the ‘next step’ was I could tell it wasn't going to be pleasant, I wasn't exactly ready to take that next step, especially when I didn't know what it entailed.

“Is it because you don’t know what it is yet?” Hardwick raised an eyebrow... at least I didn't need to spell things out for her.

“Take a wild guess.” Like I was going to admit to her being right though, I still didn't like it when she was right about things about me. I liked being safe from scrutiny. She wasn't helping that by digging into my mind so damn often.

“I understand. How about we get out of this bathroom and have a think about what the next logical step would be for you?” Hardwick suggested, sounded alright enough.

Giving me the control of the therapy was something I craved, giving me the chance to go through step by step as to what I wanted, where I was coming from and how I wanted things done gave me peace of mind. I could control when I wanted to try things, what I wanted to achieve too, and how I was going to manage it. It was certainly a lot better than letting some doctor decide everything for me and chuck me into it, like they had done in the past.

I liked that Hardwick let me do that too, that she let me come up with my own ways of sorting these issues out. Of course she gave me suggestions, and commented on things that she thought were a bit not good, but she didn't force me too hard, which I appreciated.

So, in the end we decided that I would give Loki a few more washes, just to make sure, and then we’d set about getting me submerging body parts, like an arm or a leg, into a bath full of water, while backing it all up with talking therapy. Of course, it seemed weird to do that while I was already managing relatively well showering every day, but Hardwick said that it was important that I wasn't just coping, that I actually felt safe to shower or bathe every day. That I could do it without flashback, and without fear of being suddenly attacked. It made sense I guessed, still though, I would have preferred to just start making trips to London already. I was basically functioning now, what really was stopping me from going home?

_Wouldn’t you like to know?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments/kudos!


	215. Chapter 215

214 Sherlock's POV

Loki got several more baths over the coming weeks, and I talked extensively about what happened to me with Hardwick in therapy. It was all centred around control, and how out of control I had been in that situation in Serbia. I hadn’t had any control whatsoever while being held under water, I hadn’t even been able to move. I had had my entire free will taken, and now therapy was all about regaining that control.

Hardwick said that I needed to regain that control so I could control the barrel inside my head, so I could lock it away with the other memories. But it was going to be tough, understandably. I couldn't budge it right now; it was sticking fast where it was, annoyingly enough. Even after bathing Loki several times, gaining control of that shower head, I still couldn't move that barrel. It continued to follow me inside my Mind Palace, hovering in my subconscious, threatening that it was going to get me again at any second. Hardwick said that I was getting there, but I wasn't ready yet, I needed a few more exercises to get there.

Which was how I was now standing in front of a full bathtub of water, staring down at it and considering submerging my arm in there. My arm, which was attached to my shoulder, which was dangerously close to my face. The face that had been _shoved under water repeatedly_ until I _nearly died._ This was insane! This was utterly insane and crazy and just wrong, what were we thinking?! What had I been thinking when I agreed to this last week!? Was I _mental?!_

_I thought that was obvious._ But I wasn't mental enough to get that fucking close to water like this! I wasn't... I didn't trust my mind in this, didn't trust it to keep the memories at bay. In myself I _knew_ that there was nothing wrong with this water, that I would be fine going near it, but I _couldn't_ trust my own mind. I could have a flashback again, or have a panic attack, or anything! I couldn't... oh God I couldn't do this!

“Sherlock, its okay to be scared, but you’re going to be okay, you’re perfectly safe.” Hardwick reminded me, thankfully not touching any part of me. If anybody touched me right now I was going to _freak_ out, I could feel it. I could feel the panic rising in my veins, getting ready to push me out of here and to wherever was safe. It wasn't safe here, it wasn't safe here...

“I, I... there isn’t... I can’t trust... my brain, it won’t.” I couldn't speak properly, shivering as I stared at the water.

“It may not be completely calm, but that’s all a part of learning to not be afraid. Today probably isn’t going to be pleasant, but we do have to jump in to get better sometimes. You’ve been managing brilliantly with Loki recently, you can do this now.” Hardwick promised, “Do you want me to show you its safe? Because I can put my hand in and show you that nothing is going to happen if you want.”

“Do it.” Maybe, maybe if she did it first, I wouldn’t completely freak because I’d seen her do it. If she did it, I could do it right? _I don’t know, can you? You’re the apparently great Sherlock Holmes after all; I thought you were supposed to be indestructible._

“Alright. If that makes you feel better.” Hardwick knelt down and pushed her hand into the water, swirling it around.

“See, no problem. Nothing to push me or you in, nothing dragging anybody in. Just a bath full of water.” She smiled, “Want me to stay here while you try it?”

“No.” I could hurt her if I freaked. It was best if she moved out of the way.

“Okay, take your time.” Hardwick stood and dried off her arm.

I slowly knelt next to the bath, rolling up my sleeve; heart pounding so hard in my chest it was almost painful. Loki pressed himself close, gently licking at my face, grounding me in the moment.

“Good boy, stay there for me.” I whispered to him, rubbing his fur, taking a moment to feel the texture against my fingers and enjoy it, letting it calm me.

“Sherlock, tell me about your home. You’ve never told me what 221b is like.” Hardwick sat down again... I didn't understand.

“Tell me about 221b, distract yourself from what you’re doing, and remind yourself why you’re doing this. So tell me, what’s 221b like?” Hardwick smiled gently, _distraction technique; wow she’s scared that you’re going to have a meltdown._

“It’s erm... It’s like this wing of the house, I guess. Different wallpaper though, clashes on every wall. Furniture is nice though, it’s the same lay out as it is here, we’re on the second floor.” Carefully, I inched my arm nearing the water, “There’s bullet holes in the walls where I shot it in boredom one time. I spray painted a smiley face in yellow spray paint there once too, that’s still there.” My fingers went into the water.

_“NO! NO, NO, PLEASE NO!” I screamed out, seeing the barrel again. I didn't care anymore; I didn't want to go near that barrel! Not again, dear God not again!_

“The entire place is a mess. We, we don’t clean often... Mrs Hudson does m-most of it...” I carried on, trying my best.

_“Going to tell us what we want to know?” My captor yanked my head up by my hair._

_“I-I...” They’d kill me, oh God if I told them they’d kill me. But if I didn't they’d hurt me more, I’d go down that barrel again, I couldn't... this couldn't... I was stuck!_

“What colour are the tiles in the kitchen?” Hardwick asked.

“Green. The cupboards are, are white. We... we didn't... the table is covered in acid burns and scratches.” I pushed out, up to my elbow in the bath, not daring to go any further.

_“No information, not stopping. Push him in.” My captor ordered._

“From your experiments?” Hardwick questioned.                

“Yeah. Yeah, experiments. Microscope things. And Bunsen Burners.” I continued to shiver, but answered every question as best as I could. It barely worked to ground me, but I finally _managed,_ keeping myself in the moment, not back in Serbia. The memories still ran round my head but I stayed in London, I needed to stay in London. I couldn't go anywhere else but London. I had to ground myself there and nowhere else, it was home, and I had to go home one day. I wouldn’t accept being anywhere else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anybody is in the McFly fan base, or really likes the song Piece By Piece by Kelly Clarkson, I've just posted a McFly fic based on the song, it's on my profile if you want to check it out.


	216. Chapter 216

215 John's POV

I wanted to get involved with Sherlock’s therapy but couldn't, apparently he was refusing to let me into this part of his treatment. Why I didn't know, maybe he was scared of me seeing him so panicked again? Though, why would that matter? I’d seen him in a state several times over the past year, and I understood that he had developed a phobia; I wasn't going to _judge_ him, or make him feel like he was anything less than brilliant. I could have helped, I hadn’t really had _phobias_ thanks to the army, but I could have given him moral support or something!

Sighing, I sent for the next patient, not really paying attention to anything they said. Asthma check up, still wheezing, needing inhaler refill, next, blah, blah, blah, Sherlock was more important right now than a rash caused by eczema. He was going through Lord knew what by himself, probably working himself into a complete state, which put him in a deep depression, I wanted to help him! He was so close, _so damn close,_ to being ready to at least _try_ a trip down to London, I would rather be with him now to help him towards that goal. He needed to come home, he had been away too long, I missed him so much, and we all needed him.

Greg had cases piling up, just waiting for him to look through and solve, the website was probably bursting with clients, though I hadn’t checked in a while. Molly wanted to show him all the new lab equipment Bart’s had, or at least extend the offer for some body parts to play with. And Mrs Hudson... Mrs Hudson just _missed_ him, we all missed him. We wanted our Sherlock back, whole and ready to work again. Not just because he made our lives easier, but because nothing was as fun anymore without him there.

Even when he was rude, or sarcastic, or throwing deductions around, he was still _fun._ We had a great time together, even if the kitchen was getting blown up again. We missed Sherlock, he just, he was our _friend,_ and we needed him home. If not just for all of our sanity. So really, I needed to be with him to help him, but he wouldn’t let me. This was apparently the one time I wasn't going to be let in, even when I wanted to be. I guessed I just had to be the backup when he needed me, or wanted me, or whatever. Which probably wouldn’t be until he was allowed a day trip out to London, however long _that_ took.

 And it took another month apparently. Hardwick deemed a month later that Sherlock was ready for a trip out somewhere, or at least an attempt at it. She wasn't sure how he was going to cope with the large London crowds again, after being in seclusion for so long, or really what to do with him. Sherlock wasn't the type to just _wander round_ London unless it was for a reason, so we needed a purpose, a purpose not related to crime solving.

“Why can’t I just go home for the day?” Sherlock suggested, chucking his towel on the floor, having apparently just gotten out the shower, despite already being dried and dressed. He looked a little shaky, but Hardwick was ready to send him on a day trip, probably as a reward for getting this far, showing that he really was getting near going home.

“You could, but don’t you want something more exciting than that? You’ve been cooped up inside a house for months and months, I would have thought you would like to have the chance to stretch your legs again.” Hardwick asked, looking a bit confused.

“I do. But I want to go home for a while. I haven’t been back at 221b in far too long; I want to go there first.” Sherlock was determined here, I doubted he’d change his mind for anything.

“It does sound like a good plan actually. We could go home for a day, hang out with Mrs Hudson and all that. Still counts as a day out I guess.” Even if it was just going from one house to the other. We’d still be _going home_ for a while, which all of us wanted.

“And it’s basically risk free. It’s Baker Street, not Scotland Yard.” Sherlock shrugged, meaning that it was safe there. Not much could trigger him off in 221b, as there were no crime scene photos, body parts, large crowds, or anything of the sort. It was just me, him and Mrs Hudson, we didn't need anything else.

“Alright, I’ll have a think and work out the logistics, in the mean time, you two think of other places to go.” Hardwick gave in.

_Yes,_ we could go home! Even though it was brief, it was _home,_ Sherlock would be in Baker Street again, exactly where he belonged! He needed to go there and be himself again, more than anything, and we could go! I had been waiting for this for far too long!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sad to say that until May, updates may be a bit all over the place/sometimes forgotten about, as life has decided to smack me very, very hard in the face. I've got three 1000-2000 word assignments to write in the next three weeks, then a 10-15 page play, two pieces of persuasive writing and an analysis of both, and two online articles and analysis to write by April. On top of that I've also got my uni summer school, which is involving me writing a load of promo work for an author about to launch a new book, which ends in a presentation that I really, really don't want to do. Then on top of that, I'm also moving into my nan's house by May, so I'm going to be redecorating/packing/unpacking/everything else for a few months. Then I may also be dealing with a children's book competition if I get through it as well, all in the next three months. I'm so sorry if this screws with updates, but I really can't help it. I'll try my best, but I can't hold any promises, I don't even know if I'll have time to write, let alone anything else! I'll keep you updated though as best I can.   
> Sorry again about this, I can't seem to be able to have more than a couple of months without more work hitting me, such is life I guess!


	217. Chapter 217

216 Sherlock's POV

I wasn't _quite_ there yet with the whole ‘submerged in water’ thing yet, it still gave me so much anxiety to sit in large bodies of water, but I was getting there. It was more _feeling_ anxiety than flashing back and reliving what had happened. Either way though, I wasn't going to knock going home despite not being completely over this water thing. I wanted to go home so _badly,_ I missed my flat so much, after talking so much about it recently, I wanted to go back more than anything. To know that Hardwick was actually considering letting me out of here for a day to go back there was indescribable. I’d do anything to go home, literally anything.

Turns out I didn't actually need to do anything, just had to help Hardwick sort out how to get back to Baker Street and what potential dangers there were inside. As far as I knew, there weren’t any. It was just my flat, the same old flat I had lived in before and wanted to continue living in after this was over. The only gun in the place was John’s, and that was locked away, the knives were kept in the drawers, even if they weren’t I was sure I could handle seeing a _knife._ I had been using knives most days to eat meals, so it wasn't like I wasn't _used_ to them.

The only potential problem I could think of was possible road works, but that was more to do with having Aspergers than PTSD. I hated the noise of the workmen drilling into the ground, and the smell of tarmac as it got laid, it sent me round the bend. But that only happened once every few years, and Mycroft assured me that the next set of road works weren’t due for another year yet. So I was safe, it would be just like going home normally, being _normal,_ in my _normal_ flat, with my _normal_ things, everything back to _normal._ I usually hated normal; right now I wanted nothing more.

“Right, so far the plan is for you to travel to Baker Street via Mycroft’s car, to avoid the train and all of that. It will drop you off outside Baker Street, where you will meet with your land lady Mrs Hudson, who is making your favourites for lunch; from there you’re going to take things as they go, doing things as you normally would in Baker Street. If you want to go out you will, if not you’re staying inside and hanging out. You’re taking your violin with you, the science equipment is being set up as we speak now so experiments can be done if needs be, laptops and TV are still already there too so you’re entertained. And by 10pm you will be picked up again by Mycroft’s car and brought back here in time for your usual bed time, does that sound like a plan?” Hardwick summarised the plan well.

I had wanted a plan of action sorted out, so I mostly knew what I was doing once I got home. Of course I was going to go where my mood took me in terms of things to do, but it was reassuring to have some sort of time table to stick to.

“Yes, we have gone through it eight times today already.” I rolled my eyes, feeling a bit like we had gone through this too often. I knew what I was doing now, repeating routine this often wasn't helpful, it was annoying. Repetition was only a good thing in times of stress, right now I wasn't stressed. I was desperate to _go home._

“I’m just making sure everything is in place Sherlock, no need to get short with me. Now are you sure you don’t want me to come with you on the trip, for emotional support if you need it? You haven’t left this house in months, save for a few walks around the fields. This could prove to be a difficult adjustment.” Hardwick asked, she had already asked this _four times_ already this week alone.

“ _Yes,_ I’m _fine._ I will be fine to go back to _my flat_ without intervention from you or anybody else. I can manage to go to a flat without supervision.” What was I, a child? _No, just someone who is mentally ill and disabled. Do you really expect to be allowed out without being asked about it constantly?_

“I’m just making sure Sherlock, that’s all. It’s okay to want someone else with you, it’s not a fault.” Hardwick smiled, squeezing my arm in reassurance.

“I’m going to be with John and Loki, I don’t need anybody else.” I could deal with this without Hardwick following. Anyway, she would ruin the experience by reminding me that I wasn't _staying_ at Baker Street. I was going to be coming back to Mycroft’s house again until I was deemed capable of living with John again. _If John stays._ Of course he was staying, where else would he go?

“If you say so. But John has my number, so he can ring me if you need me, I’ll be right over.” Hardwick gave me a suspicious look for a second, “But have fun, alright? I know how much your home and your freedom means to you, and you’re nearly there. We’ve just got to sort out this water thing entirely, and just a couple more things to work on, and then I’ll be happy to let you move back home again.” Hardwick smiled encouragingly.

“Why can’t I just stay now if I’m _nearly_ there then?” if I was so damn close to being better, why couldn't I just _stay_ at Baker Street from now on?

“Because you’ll be tempted to go back out on a crime scene too soon. Or it’ll get too much, suddenly being back in London again, all that noise, all those people, after so much time spent in the quiet. You need to readjust yourself first, and be kept away from things that are potentially harmful to your progress so far. I’d much rather we went through your first set of crime scene photos together, in your sensory room, instead of letting out there so you can jump in at the deep end at some violent, bloody murder which freaks you out.” Hardwick sighed, “I know you’re desperate for your life back, I truly understand that, but I don’t want to risk you jumping too far and too soon and setting yourself back again, alright? I’ll talk to you more about it the day after tomorrow, after you’ve had your trip out.”

“Fine. But you’re not coming with me to a real crime scene either.” I didn't want her anywhere near a crime scene; _imagine what Anderson and Donovan would say alone. Let alone what Lestrade would think._ He knew where I was. _Seeing is a lot different to knowing._

“We will discuss that when you get back. Now go on, go and get a good night’s sleep, you have a big day tomorrow.” Hardwick smiled, and if I was honest, I was actually really excited to go home. More excited than I had been in a long time. I was going _home_ tomorrow, albeit briefly. But I _was going home._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what do you guys think of this plan, think it'll work? Let me know in the comments, or tweet me @corruptedpov or leave a message in my tumblr inbox - effulgentcorruptedpov :)


	218. Chapter 218

217 Sherlock's POV                                                             

John met me in the car the next morning, giving me some company on the way back to Baker Street. I had been expecting an empty car, and to be meeting John at Baker Street itself, so to see him in the car first thing was a pleasant surprise. Though, I didn't quite understand _why_ he had gotten up early to be driven here, just to be driven back.

“The car is comfy, and it was easier to come down here instead of listening to Mrs Hudson get herself into a flap while she was trying to get everything ready. She’s nearly run me over with her hoover twice this week already.” John answered, _lying._ Clearly lying. _He’s actually here as your body guard, making sure you don’t have a break down because you’re outside again for the first time in eight months._

“She’s not honestly _that_ concerned is she? It’s not like I’m coming home for good today.” I sighed, then winced, wishing I hadn’t said that. I hadn’t really wanted to remind myself that I wasn't going home for good today. Going back to Mycroft's after this trip was going to be difficult, and I wasn't going to enjoy my pleasant little home bubble being popped, but I couldn't change that happening. So instead, I was going to have to make the most of what I had for now, and just pretend for a little while that this was my home coming.

“She really is, hasn’t stopped talking about it all week either. She’s even been baking again, peanut butter biscuits and a sponge cake in celebration.” John smiled; I shifted uncomfortably, hoping that I wasn't going to get _too_ much attention today. I wasn't used to being fussed over anymore, or being the centre of attention like this. I wasn't sure how I was going to react. I mean, I was over the whole touching thing, which was the problem last time I saw Mrs Hudson, but I wasn't, I still wasn't _well._

“Hey, it’ll be okay. It’s just the three of us today, nothing to worry about.” John gently held my wrist, squeezing for comfort. Loki butted his head against my leg as a reminder that he was also there.

“I know.” I didn't exactly what to admit to the fact that this was not as easy as it looked. I wanted nothing more than to go home, but I hadn’t been there in _so_ long, and the last time I had seen my land lady, it hadn’t exactly been the best visit in the world. I was better now, but it wasn't, I still wasn't right and this was so different to what I was now used to and I didn't know how I was going to handle this at all. Baker Street held some wonderful memories, but at the same time, it was filled with memories of the awful times too.

The last time I had been in our flat, I had shoved John into a wall, giving him a concussion. And not an hour later had begged him to kill me, now we were coming home again and acting like that hadn’t happened. Or that it was all water under the bridge and that everything was back to normal again. It didn't feel normal, none of it felt _normal._

“We can go back you know, if you don’t want to do this today, we can go back to Mycroft's, or go somewhere else.” John reassured, but I wanted to go _home._ I just, I just hadn’t expected all these feelings to come back again.

“No, no I want to go home. We planned to go home, so we’re going home.” It was what we had been planning, what we had been working up to, I wasn't about to let this car turn round and go somewhere else now! We were sticking to the plan, it just... I just needed a minute.

“Alright, I was just saying.” John put his hands up in innocence.

“Well don’t just _say,_ I _know_ already.” I hissed and winced afterwards, Loki whined at me. _Ohhhh, temper, temper! Someone isn’t coping well._ I was coping just _fine,_ I just needed everybody to shut up talking and let me deal with this damn it. It wasn't difficult, I was going home and not to a fucking war zone, I had to remember that.

“Sorry. I just... can you give me a minute?” I leant my head against the window; the cool glass against my face was slightly calming.

“Sure. Take as long as you need.” John backed off as much as he could in the car, even turning to look out his own window to give me some privacy.

I took a few breaths, burying my fingers in Loki’s fur as far as I could, if there was enough room, I would have gotten him to jump on the seat and lay in my lap. But as there wasn't, I had to let him simply rest his head against my leg, it wasn't ideal, but it would do for the moment. Until we could get inside. I’d sit on the sofa in 221b, possibly lie on it, Loki could curl up better on the sofa than on my arm chair. Yeah, I’d lie on the sofa for a while, that would be nice; I hadn’t done that in a long while, far too long. That would be good, lying on my sofa like normal; it hadn’t had much action in the last three years. _That’s it; keep on repeating like a child. You’re scared to go **home** now, as if you couldn't get more pathetic. You’re actually scared of your own home. It’s a bloody house with a few bad memories, get the hell over it. _

This was supposed to be a reward; this didn't feel like a reward anymore. This felt like another test, another thing to get over and deal with. I was scared to go _home_ now, what kind of person was scared of their own home? How was I scared of my home and the people who lived there with me? I shouldn’t be, I shouldn’t have been scared. Yet I was, I was _so_ scared, I was so scared of what was going to happen. I didn't know what was going to happen in there, the uncertainty was horrible; I wanted to know what was going to happen!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the comments, they're quite literally keeping me sane in the middle of these essays!


	219. Chapter 219

218 John's POV 

_Please don’t freak out, please don’t freak out._ I was begging whatever higher power there was that Sherlock didn't freak out when we got home. He looked ready to bolt at any second, the colour completely drained from his face as his fingers raked their way through Loki’s fur. He wasn't well; he really, really was not well at all. But we were going home, home shouldn’t have been a dangerous place for him, it was _221b_ for God’s sake!

Then again, it had been a while since he had been home, and the last time we were there it hadn’t exactly ended well, what with my concussion and the graveside breakdown. But was that really affecting Sherlock now? Could that really be affecting him so much? It must have been, and I didn't have a clue on how to help him. Should I hold his hand? Tell him everything was going to be okay? Make this car turn round and go back to Mycroft’s? Sherlock wanted to go to Baker Street, but he didn't look at all well for it.

The car soon pulled up outside Baker Street, the black door just as shiny as always, knocker pulled to the left. We had all painstakingly made sure that the flat was as like the usual 221b as possible, considering half of Sherlock’s things were still at Mycroft's. We had tried though, and made sure at least some things were correct, like the wonky knocker. It could make all the difference to Sherlock, and that was the point wasn't it? To help him adjust again to our home?

Looking over at Sherlock, I saw him hesitate before he opened the car door, though he covered it quickly, pushing the door open and stepping out onto the streets of London for the first time in months. He took a deep breath in, observing his surroundings, checking for differences.

“Nothing has changed out here, it’s just as you left it.” I reassured him, taking a minute of my own to observe Sherlock. Well, not observe, more watch him.

This was the first time in I don’t know how long I had seen Sherlock look like himself on this street. He’d put on weight at Mycroft’s, and the defeated posture was almost gone, the hair cut had helped too. Standing on Baker Street right now, was Sherlock Holmes. Not the echo of him, but _the_ Sherlock Holmes. He was still rough around the edges and needed a little polishing in places, but Sherlock Holmes was definitely back on Baker Street again, and my God did it feel good to say that.

“Speedy’s have gotten a new coffee machine.” Sherlock commented, completely correct as usual. When was the last time I’d heard him deduce something?! Too long, far too long.

“How’d you know?” I asked, maybe this could be a distraction for him, or a relaxation thing. Get him into the swing of deduction; remind him of what life used to be.

“It smells different, and the sound of it filling up cups isn’t the same.” Sherlock answered as the door opened, Mrs Hudson on the other side.

“Oh Sherlock, look at you! Back on Baker Street again!” She looked a little teary, I couldn't blame her, seeing our detective back again was just... it was indescribable. Like we had gotten our lives back. Even if it was just for a day.

“Bound to happen at some time Mrs Hudson, I couldn’t leave Baker Street for too long.” Sherlock smiled, I couldn't tell if he was acting like he was happy to see her or if he genuinely was.

“Of course you couldn't it’s your home! Now stop standing outside like lemons and get in here! And bring that gorgeous dog of yours too!” Mrs Hudson ushered us inside, bustling into her flat and expecting us to follow. We didn't say no, convening in her kitchen together. It was a little squashed, but it felt _good._ All three of us back in one place together, Mrs Hudson immediately bringing us the treats she had baked and talking away about everything under the sun.

The only real difference that I could see was the fact that Loki was there, and even he wasn't much of a difference if I were honest. He was doing what he usually did, which was blend himself into the background, sticking close to Sherlock but not getting in the way. Other than that, this was like any other time we had sat in this kitchen. Mrs Hudson chattering away, biscuits aplenty, and Sherlock, looking as close to relaxed as he had done in a while, settling himself into Baker Street.

Every time I looked at him during that conversation, he looked more and more like himself. He was quiet, but I didn't expect him to be too talkative right now, he looked relaxed, though. Relaxed and almost _happy,_ definitely glad to be here, that was for sure. I never thought I would have seen the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments/kudos!


	220. Chapter 220

219 Sherlock's POV

“Oh look at you sitting there, just like before! I have missed seeing you here!” Mrs Hudson reached out and touched my cheek; I leant into it, having missed her _so much._ I had missed all of this so much, home had been such a distant concept for so long, and I hadn’t seen anybody but John for months, but now I was _here_ again. I was sitting in Mrs Hudson’s kitchen, letting her talk about the married ones next door and all the other gossip she had come across in my absence, while eating my way through a plate of her baking.

John and I used to do this every once in a while, when there wasn't a case on and things were slow. Even if things weren’t that slow, we had always been brought various baked goods by Mrs Hudson, and sometimes even meals, too. And she was always in and out of 221b, dishing out gossip, or talking about something or other, whatever she found interesting and wanted to share.

Even though I had her chatter in semi permanent mute I had missed her presence, she was a big part of my life here at Baker Street, and if I were honest, she was a bit like a mother to me.

“Well if all goes to plan I’ll be back for good before you know it.” I smiled up at her, chewing through another biscuit, “In the mean time, you have John. Surely he’s keeping you busy enough.”

“Oh John’s barely here, what with the surgery and being with you, I only see him in the evenings! And anyway, having one is not the same as having both of you. You’re a package deal, and I won’t have you any other way.” Mrs Hudson held onto both of our hands, looking between me and John like she was still so pleased to see the two of us in the same room.

“Speaking of the flat, think we should go upstairs? So Loki can get a look around at the least.” John suggested, glancing down at the dog resting on the floor. He looked up when he heard his name, but other than that he didn't go anywhere.

“Probably a good idea. He will be living here soon enough,” _have you even asked Mrs Hudson if that’s alright?_ “If that’s alright with you Mrs Hudson, this is your house after all.”

“Of course it is dear! He’s your dog, I wouldn’t dream of kicking him out!” Mrs Hudson answered, almost looking shocked at the very idea of kicking a dog out.

“We all had this discussion a while ago, before we got Loki, to make sure it was okay to bring him here to live with us. Mrs Hudson was all for it.” John joined in.

“Great, now shall we go upstairs? That is why we are here after all.” I wanted to go upstairs, this flat was Mrs Hudson’s, and while it was homely, it wasn't _my_ home. My home was up those seventeen steps, I _had_ to go inside, that was my space, the thing I had been working towards. I had to get inside; I needed to get back in there again.

As soon as everyone started getting up, I raced up the stairs, taking in my old front door, the old wallpaper surrounding it, everything that was so familiar, yet so different. I felt like I hadn’t been home for years, possibly not since I stepped off the roof of St Bart’s. The flat hadn’t felt so homely without John here, and when he had been here, I wasn't in any state to relax, or do anything but wallow in my own fears. But everything was different now, I had Loki, and I was for the most part alright, so the flat should be safe again. I could enjoy my home again, right? I could do that... this wasn't going to be difficult was it?

Downstairs had been easy enough; surely being back in 221b would be the same too? It had to be, it couldn't be the same as before, when everything was wrong and nothing was going right. I couldn't... being back at 221b should be okay surely... I had to know, but at the same time I was scared to find out. My last time here had been filled with so much fear, and I could feel anxiety bubbling up inside again.

_Open the door and get it over with already!_

I pushed open the door, stepping inside 221b Baker Street for the first time in nearly a year. And it was wrong. Completely wrong.

The armchairs and sofas were still in place, as were all the big furnishings, but so much had gone. The skull painting was gone, as was the Sudoku rubix cube, my skull was missing, along with half of my books. All the science equipment was set up, but everything else was gone. A violin was there by the window, but it wasn't my violin. This wasn't 221b, it wasn't... it wasn't 221b, where did my 221b go?!

_At Mycroft’s stupid. It all got packed up and taken to Mycroft’s for your little recreation flat at his mansion._

“My, my things... it’s... they’re not here.” It was wrong, it was all wrong! All my things were gone! They were all at Mycroft’s and they weren’t here and they were supposed to be _here!_ This was their home, it wasn't supposed, it was so different! It wasn't supposed to be different! I hadn’t expected to have so much gone!

“Yeah, they’re at your brothers, we had to move them all there when you moved into his place. We’ll get it all back though once we move back here. Everything is just a bit bare for the moment.” John answered, but that wasn't right! This wasn't right! It didn't feel right, this wasn't home like this, it wasn't home!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments and the kudos - and good news, after many, many self imposed deadline changes, I'm finally writing the last chapter of this fic today! There's still quite a few chapters left to post, and I'll probably be starting work on a new fic soon! :D


	221. Chapter 221

220 John's POV                                                        

“Sherlock, Sherlock it’s alright. Your stuff is all safe; it’s just at Mycroft’s for the moment. We’ll get it back here before we move in properly.” I rested my hand very, _very_ gently on Sherlock’s arm, not squeezing, not putting much pressure on him, just touching. He was panicked, I couldn't risk too much here, I had to calm him down right now.

How did we forget that Sherlock was so damn particular with his things? That he liked everything to be in _precisely_ the same place every day? How didn't we think that going to a 221b stripped almost bare of Sherlock’s things was a good idea? But what other choice did we have? We couldn't have taken it all from Mycroft’s to place it all back here for a day, just to take it all back again! At the same time, to see the colour drain from Sherlock’s face to that same deathly pale as before, his fingers tapping the patterns I hadn’t seen in a long while returning while Loki whined at Sherlock’s side, I wished we had. I hadn’t meant for this to be a bad experience, this wasn't supposed to be a bad experience for him! Shit why didn't we anticipate this?!

“Come on mate, we brought in a violin and science equipment for you, won’t that be fun, playing on a violin and people watching? Or, or experimenting, I think Mycroft managed to find sulphuric acid for you to play with!” I tried to lead him into the room, cursing all of our stupidity at the same time. Did we honestly forget that Sherlock was most probably autistic and seeing his home moved around so much would freak him out? More importantly, how did _Mycroft_ forget?

That shit. He probably did this deliberately as a test or something, didn't he? That absolute shithead. I’d kill him the next time I saw him if this was true.

“It’s not, it’s not like home. It’s not home. I, I... my things.” Sherlock honest to God _whimpered_ as his fingers started their routine up again. _First, second, third, fourth. First, third, second, fourth. First, fourth, second, third._ Speeding up to a ridiculous rate.

Until he all of a sudden stopped, snapped to his full height, took a deep breath and went straight for the violin.

“Not mine, but it’ll do. It’ll have to do.” Sherlock muttered to himself, checking the pegs and the strings before falling into position, playing some... Vivaldi I think.

“John, what was that?” Mrs Hudson asked, hesitant by the door.

“I... We moved his things; he isn’t keen on things like that. He wasn't expecting it.” I answered, “We’re probably not going to hear much from him now. He’s got this... this technique thing, it’s a room in his mind palace, he goes there when he needs to calm down. The music helps.” I tried to explain it to her, not wanting to worry her but how else could I explain that this was probably Sherlock readjusting himself to the reality of the situation, instead of his expectations?

“But his things have been moved for months, he knows they’re at Mycroft’s.” Mrs Hudson did have a point there.

“He does, but coming back here and being hit with half your stuff missing isn’t exactly fun, even if you know where those things are.” I explained, hoping that that made sense.

“Oh dear, did we really set him off then?” Mrs Hudson worried, “He was having such a nice time then as well.”

“It was to be expected I guess. But I don’t think it’s too bad. He’s sorting himself out, give him an hour and we’ll see how he is then.” I smiled for her, hoping that that helped her understand.

“If, if you’re sure.” Mrs Hudson answered, looking back at our boy worriedly.

“I am, if I wasn't, I’d be calling Mycroft, or possibly Doctor Hardwick,” she looked confused for a second, “Sherlock’s therapist. Haven’t I mentioned her before?” I swore I had.

“Oh, her! Yes, yes you have... I’m going to make a start on dinner, if need anything, you know where I am.” Mrs Hudson left us to it, and left me to wait to see if Sherlock was okay.

\--

I sat through an entire hour of agitated violin playing before the tension in his shoulders relaxed. And if I’m being _completely_ honest with myself, this still felt entirely normal. Over the years of living with Sherlock, I was used to the violin getting tortured as a means of relaxation, and used to not talking for hours on end. It was all just how Sherlock was, and despite knowing that the cause of this particular issue was different from the usual case worries, it still felt pretty damn normal to me. Everything was still sailing the way it usually did.

“Back with us again?” I asked when the music slowed slightly, giving me the opportunity to speak.

“I... I, yes. Yes I think so.” Sherlock looked lost for a second, eyes darting around the bare room, “Sorry, I just... I overlooked the fact that all of my possessions are at Mycroft’s house, instead of here. It... It threw me.” he looked so pained at admit that, it broke my heart a bit.

“No problem. It’s our fault for not thinking that through, we’ll make sure it doesn’t happen next time.” Because hopefully next time Sherlock would be home for good.

“Of course, that would be... that would be preferable.” Sherlock sighed, looking indecisive for a second, “I’m not being difficult, I just... I have... I’m used to the flat having a certain lay out, not having it there is... _worrying._ ”

“Like I said, not a problem Sherlock, I get that. I totally get that. We’ll talk about it more when we get back to Mycroft’s. Instead, why don’t you have a go on some of that science stuff over there, I’ve heard there’s several types of acids to play with.” I nodded my head to the things already laid out on the kitchen table.

“It’s set up wrong.” Sherlock tilted his head as he regarded the set up.

“Then go fix it. You’ve got another hour before lunch is ready, and a few hours afterwards to fix it and have a play.” I could see the indecision and _longing_ in Sherlock’s eyes for it, how long had it been since he had played mad scientist? Easily three years. How had he survived that long without it all?

“Go on, just like old times.” I encouraged him, wishing I didn't have to, but it was worth it to see his eyes light up as he went to reconfigure his lab.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments/kudos, I'll you about my new fic once I get into it! :)


	222. Chapter 222

221 Sherlock's POV

Mycroft’s men had set up all science the equipment _wrong,_ completely and utterly wrong. Did they not know about science?! Had they learnt _nothing_ from school or were they all being picked thanks to their muscle and their ability to follow orders? Ridiculous, they should have let me set up, or got someone competent to do it, they clearly couldn't be trusted with something as simple as _setting up a few test tubes,_ how stupid could you get?!

A small laugh caught my attention; I looked up to see John leaning by the wall, watching me with a smile on his face. He looked strangely... _content,_ and a little like he was in awe.

“What?” I didn't get it, and I didn't like not knowing.

“Nothing, I just... you do realise that you were talking out loud just then, right?” John didn't stop smiling.

“No I wasn't.” I had better control over myself than that, I knew when to talk out loud and when to not.

“You were, you were ranting about the incompetence of Mycroft’s men and how they set up your equipment.” John answered... I hadn’t meant to say that out loud!

“Problem?” **play it cool, act like it was meant to happen.**

“No, none at all. I just, I missed hearing you do that. It’s been a while since I’ve heard a good rant about the idiocy of people.” John sighed.

“You wouldn’t have said that a few years ago.” He wouldn’t have, he would have told me that that was a bit not good and to keep it to myself.

“Changed my mind. It’s good to hear it again, reminds me of... before.” John had hesitated then, I didn't mind the mention so much. There was no point avoiding the topic, what had happened had happened, there was no point making it one huge elephant in the room. Lord knew there were already enough of them, _like the fact that you nearly had a bloody panic attack just by looking at the front room._ Yeah, like that one.

“No need to hesitate mentioning it John, getting back to life before the Fall is what I’m aiming for.” Maybe some things needed to keep quiet though. Like the day at the grave, yeah, I could definitely avoid that day for the rest of my life.

“And you’re doing well. We’re back here and you’re ranting about stupid people,” John smiled, “So, anywhere I can help with setting this up?”

“Erm,” John usually wasn't one for helping me with this, “Not really. It’s quite delicate. Not that you’re not good with your hands but it’s... it’s a complicated set up and it’s hard to explain where everything goes.” I wanted to do it for myself. It had been so _long,_ I wanted to do something for myself, something I enjoyed without having someone else telling me I was wrong or I had to stop.

“Alright, I’ll go see if Mrs Hudson needs any help downstairs then.” John turned to leave.

“No, wait!” I grabbed his wrist. I didn't want him to _leave,_ I just, I just didn't want him _touching_ things. I still wanted him in the flat; I didn't want him gone for any reason, not right now.

“I can... I can explain what I’m doing though, like I did with the composers at Mycroft’s... if you would like that. You can’t help with the experiment, but I could, I could explain.” I wanted to talk with him, John was a calming presence, and the flat didn't feel _right,_ so much was missing; I couldn't lose John too, not even briefly. I needed John here, just for a while longer, he couldn't... he couldn't leave right now. Not with the flat like this, after the flat was fixed, then he could come and go as he pleased, but not right now. _You sound ridiculously pathetic, do you know that? Coming back here apparently makes you horrendously clingy, it’s disgusting._

“Really?” John let me pull him closer.

“Yes, if you would like to. You, you seemed to like what I told you about composers, and while this won’t be as useful as that with your potential future dates, it’s still useful information to have. It helps with cases. Maybe something medical in the future too.” I was babbling, trying to make this sound like I wasn't desperate to have him with me still. _Really not working, it’s obvious that you’re just desperate for company because you don’t want to be alone in your own flat. All because of some moved things._

“Go on then, show me something interesting.” John challenged.

“What do you count as interesting?” we had completely different ideas on what interesting meant.

“I’m not sure, chemistry isn’t my forte.” John shrugged, _fuck_ that was difficult then.

“Erm, give me a minute.” I looked through all the equipment available, checking all the ingredients I had been given to play with. Nothing too big unfortunately, nothing that could cause a _boom_ or any other fun sound. Oh... apart from _that._

“I can make some of these metals react with the acid, that should cause a bit of a bang.” Not too big one though, Mycroft had clearly thought ahead.

“Alright, make the metals go bang.” John stepped back, letting me set up my equipment as to how I wanted it, all while explaining what I was doing.

And, if I was honest, it was surprisingly fun. I was, as John put it, playing ‘mad scientist’ in my own home, teaching him as I went along, and creating some spectacular (if somewhat small) bangs as I went along. I was used to making some bigger noises than that, but this was a good start to getting back on my feet.

The best part though was seeing John looking happy again. He was watching me in wonderment, like he used to. It made me feel like I was... like I was _great_ again, like I was the wonderful, fantastic man he wrote about on his blog. Seeing him look at me and what I was doing like I was brilliant, I wasn't broken in his eyes at that moment. I wasn't broken, or strange, or in need of saving or therapy or anything. I wasn't still struggling with large bodies of water, I wasn't waking up with nightmares, I wasn't fighting back a critical voice inside my head.

I was... I was almost... I almost felt like Sherlock Holmes again. And I really, _really_ could have gotten used to that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the comments/kudos, it means a lot. This fic is one of the only things keeping me sane during this madness. I've counted that I've got TWELVE assignments to do by April 25th, and all of it totals about 10,000 words! It's safe to say my tutor is going to hate me constantly sending her stuff to check over lol! All of it makes me slightly glad I didn't get through on the children's book competition, I don't think I could cope with that on top of all this!


	223. Chapter 223

222 Sherlock's POV

Mrs Hudson eventually called us down to eat dinner with her in 221a, and it was cooked to her usual brilliant standard. I had been getting roast dinners at Mycroft’s every Sunday, but it wasn't the same as it was here. Mrs Hudson did something to her meals to make them better than any of Mycroft’s cooks; I couldn't put my finger on it. Even after years of eating her food, I couldn't figure out what she did to make food taste this good. She always said that it was years of practice, but that was not the only reason, it couldn't be.

Our conversation turned from catching up and explaining just what John and I had been doing upstairs to what was going to be happening in the future. It was a bit of an awkward topic, as I wasn't quite sure what we were doing if I was honest, but I could provide an outline at the least.

“I’m going to be continuing to take trips out into London, regaining my bearings after being away for too long, then I’ll start working cold cases for Lestrade, and slowly I’ll be reintegrating myself back into Baker Street.” I explained, paraphrasing Doctor Hardwick’s explanation from a few weeks ago. Because that was what was basically happening, no need to talk about the fact that I was going to be watched for signs of distress to any part of my old life.

Mrs Hudson didn't need that, and John didn't need to hear it right now. We were having a _good_ day; it was going to remain good. _Apart from this morning’s panic on the drive over._ That was different. I didn't know what was going to happen, I was allowed to panic. _And what was the panic over the flat being nearly empty?_ Another reasonable panic. I could hardly be blamed for being distressed over the fact that my flat was nearly devoid of my things.

“Of course that means we’ll probably be dropping in on occasion, depending on how our trips out pan out.” John added, eating another roast potato.

“Sounds lovely to me, dear, I’m always in so drop by whenever you like. It’ll be nice to have some life at Baker Street again, this place has been too quiet for far too long. It needs some action.” Mrs Hudson grinned at me, squeezing my hand.

“I’ll be back before you know it Mrs Hudson, you’ll be complaining about all the noise thanks to cases in no time.” I squeezed her hand back, wanting to reassure her and me. I would be back soon, I had to be. Of course I was going to be back soon, this was my home, I refused to go through everything I had been through and not come home at the end. This was my end game; I _had_ to get back here again. _Unless you can’t go back to cases again. Or handle London crowds._

“I’m sure you will be, and after so much silence, I won’t be complaining. All that matters is that you’re happy Sherlock, if that includes clattering up and down the stairs in the middle of the night, chasing criminals and getting excited over murders, then I won’t begrudge you it. You deserve it after everything you have been through.” Mrs Hudson promised, the look on her face so honest I couldn't help but believe her.

We had dessert and then it was time for us to go back to Mycroft’s. I tried to tell John that he could stay here, as he was still living at Baker Street, but he insisted on coming back with me, something about making sure I was settled back at the mansion. _That means he’s going to report back to Mycroft so you can’t lie._ Nothing I could do about that I guessed.

“Bye Sherlock, you go back to your brother’s and rest okay?” Mrs Hudson told me at her door, John already in the car.

“Of course. There’s not much else to do but rest.” I nodded, actually meaning that I would. I was starting to feel a bit tired, too much activity and talking today, I wasn't used to it. _My God you’re out of practice._

“Good. You make the most of it over there in the quiet; Lord knows you don’t rest here.” Mrs Hudson looked like she wanted to hug me, but wasn't sure if she could. I took the initiative and reached out to hug her, revelling in the fact that I _could_ hug her. No violent urges, not immediate response to attack her and protect myself. Just feeling her arms resting around my shoulders in a motherly hold.

“I missed you, so much.” She whispered in my ear.

“I missed you, too, every single day.” I admitted, I had missed her every day. Not just her food and her bringing me tea in the morning, but her company, too. Whenever I felt lonely in Baker Street, I could just run downstairs to have a chat, or more likely, Mrs Hudson would come upstairs to see me. I missed her motherly hovering and her affectionate sarcastic remarks to me.

“Then get better and come home.” Mrs Hudson pulled back, giving me a watery smile, rubbing my arm.

“I will.” I smiled at her, “And... thank you. For all the baking, it was a nice reminder of home. That there is a home for me here.”

“Baker Street will _always_ be your home Sherlock. No matter what you do, or what happens to you, Baker Street will forever be your home.” Mrs Hudson promised.

“Thank you.” I meant it; it meant so much to hear that. I’d been through so much; put everyone through so much, too, to hear that Baker Street would always be here for me, it was a great comfort.

“Nothing to thank me for. But, can you promise me something?” Mrs Hudson asked, still holding onto my hands, like she was reluctant to let go, I could echo that sentiment.

“Anything for you Mrs Hudson.” Absolutely anything for her. I had fallen off a building for her; anything she asked for couldn't be as hard as that surely.

“Call me every once in a while. I worry you know, and John can only tell me so much. So call me, and Greg, and Molly. We miss you, all of us. John has hogged you for months, we need a look in too every once in a while.” Mrs Hudson made me laugh a little.

“If you wish Mrs Hudson.” I could stretch to phone her and Molly every once in a while, though, “Who’s Greg?”

“Lestrade, you big idiot,” She playfully hit me on the arm, I didn't even twitch, “Now get in that car before John falls asleep or something.”

“I’m going, I’m going. Bye Mrs Hudson.” I leant in and kissed her gently on the cheek before turning to get in the car.

“I expect a phone call young man.” Mrs Hudson smiled from the door.

“I won’t forget, promise.” I wouldn’t, I’d work it into my routine somewhere.

“Good. Now go get better, and don’t ever be a stranger on your trips out.” Mrs Hudson waved as the car sped off back to Mycroft’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for the comments and the kudos!  
> Currently I'm one essay down, nearly finished with another one, and then I can have a small three day break for my birthday, then it's onto the creative pieces, their analysis' and the presentation! And somewhere in the middle of that, moving some of the 'smaller' things into my nan's house and preparing for moving day! At some point, I'll be able to have time to sleep again lol!


	224. Chapter 224

223 John's POV                                              

Sherlock was quiet for most of the journey back to Mycroft’s, spending it looking out of his window and watching his London pass him by. If I looked closely, I could see that he was trying very hard to pretend that he didn't miss London at all, and that he hadn’t wanted to stay back at Baker Street a while longer. It was a bit heartbreaking, to see that look on his face. Sherlock belonged in London, more than anywhere else in the world. He belonged in London, living in Baker Street, racing down back alleys and chasing criminals with me, blowing up things in the kitchen and at St Bart’s. Going back to Mycroft's... It wasn't the same for him, he wasn't home there, Baker Street was home. Mycroft’s was... it was Mycroft’s; I couldn't describe it any other way.

“You’ll come home permanently soon.” I reached over and squeezed his hand, feeling like it was needed at this moment in time.

“I know.” Sherlock whispered in answer, eyes staring longingly at Big Ben as it passed.

“And we’re coming back for another trip soon as well. You’re not going to be away for much longer.” I promised, I’d talk to Charlotte, and to Mycroft, so Sherlock could come home as soon as possible. He had lit up when we were playing with his science equipment, I had seen so many hints of the old him coming out today, he _needed_ to be home.

By the time we got back to Mycroft’s mansion, Sherlock was dead on his feet, yawning every few minutes and looking like he was fighting to stay awake. He didn't even bother to hide that from Mycroft, who was waiting for us at the front door.

“How was the day out brother mine? I take it you had fun.” Mycroft’s eyes searched his brother’s form, deducing our day through his clothes.

“It was a good day out, and I’m sure Sherlock will tell you all about it in the morning. But right now, I think it’s best if he go to bed.” I cut in first, because Sherlock looked _exhausted,_ he was in need of the sleep.

“Hmm, yes, you do look unnecessarily tired.” Mycroft agreed.

“Stop trying to be Mummy Mycroft, it’s very unbecoming of you.” Sherlock glared weakly at his brother.

“You should be used to it by now brother dear. Now go to bed before you collapse, I will talk with you in the morning.” Mycroft answered without missing a beat, I wondered briefly just what their childhood had been like. God their poor mother must have been run ragged trying to keep them both entertained.

“You’re just jealous that we had more of Mrs Hudson’s cooking, which is probably for the best, you’ve put on three more pounds.” Sherlock left with that statement, I couldn't help but smirk because, really, when was the last time I heard a quip about Mycroft’s weight?

“If you say so Sherlock. Now off to bed with you.” Mycroft waved him off, turning to me, “I see the trip did go well. Have fun playing with my brother’s chemistry set?”

“Yeah, it was mostly for Sherlock’s benefit, as he was a little freaked out at any empty 221b... You didn't plan that did you? Because if you did then that was incredibly cruel of you, he all but panicked because the flat was so empty.” I remembered my earlier anger; I severely hoped that Mycroft hadn’t been testing Sherlock or something, because honestly, it was cruel to do that on a day meant for relaxation.

“I had no such planning in that John. I suspected that something like that could happen, hence the chemistry equipment and the violin placement, but I certainly did not do it deliberately as a test.” Mycroft actually looked a little offended that I could possibly insinuate such a thing about him.

“Good. Because he really didn't like a bare 221b.” I still glared at the man, so if he was lying, he knew I was _not_ impressed. Not that that would make the slightest bit of difference in Mycroft’s behaviour, the man did what he did no matter what the consequences, but at least he knew that I wouldn’t let him go without warning, which made me feel better.

“I suspect nobody likes to see their home bare, but I shall endeavour to avoid similar situations in the future. Now how about you tell me exactly what happened today?” Mycroft got me telling him everything I could about Sherlock’s day, so he could relay a reliable account back to Charlotte, in case Sherlock lied. Not that there was anything to really lie about, but there we go.

“Good, it sounds like today was a success then.” Mycroft concluded.

“I would say so yes. So I think you should go ahead with letting him head back into London a few more times, he misses it too much to not go back. I think we’ll see a great amount of improvement in him if he gets to go back.” I was sure of it, seeing him light up today... we _had_ to go back. Where, I didn't know, but we had to have a few more trips back again. Sherlock needed London now; he didn't need as much sheltering. He was making so much headway, and if we gave him a bit of space to figure things out, I reckoned he would come along leaps and bounds if we brought him back home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments/kudos/birthday wishes! :D


	225. Chapter 225

224 Sherlock's POV

I fell asleep nearly the minute my head hit the pillow, I was barely aware of Loki curling up by my side. Today was... today was _exhausting,_ I hadn’t really thought it would be. I didn't think it would have been as exhausting, I mean, I had just gone home for a bit, it shouldn’t have been so tiring. Going home was supposed to be relaxing and a fun day out... why was I tired? Oh. Stress, that’s why. Bloody stress never used to make me this tired.

But my head hit the pillow and I was down for the count, fast asleep the second Loki stopped wriggling. I didn't even have a nightmare that night, slept right through, pretty sure I hadn’t even _twitched_ that night. If I was honest, it was the best night’s sleep I had had in a while, possibly in three years. I actually woke up feeling _rested_ and like I was awake the next day.

“Good morning Sherlock, I trust you slept well.” Mycroft greeted me in the morning, eyes roaming over me as he looked for clues.

“Not bad.” I slumped into a chair, pouring cereal into a bowl.

“I hear you had a fun day yesterday playing chemistry with John, cause any explosions?” Mycroft raised an eyebrow, he knew exactly what had happened yesterday, there was no point in asking this.

“No, you would have heard about that by now.” I shovelled a spoonful of cereal into my mouth, answering Mycroft sarkily. He was being unnecessarily polite, treating me like I _needed_ the conversation when I really didn't. I was fine; I didn't need to talk about my day with my brother, especially when he knew exactly what I had done the day before.

Eventually, I left to go and read for a while; I was still playing catch up with all of the scientific journals I had missed during my time away. Two days ago I had just gotten to an article about DNA testing that looked incredibly interesting which I was eager to get back to, and now was the perfect time, because I wasn't needed by Hardwick for a few hours yet.

It was almost routine now anyway, to go and read in the hours between breakfast and Hardwick’s therapy session. It wasn't like there was anything else better to do, I had no crimes to solve, and no body part to work with, or any interesting experiments to have a go at either. Sure, I had the chemicals, but there wasn't much I could do right now... unless I retested some of these theories for my own knowledge... maybe once I’d caught up. There were only a few books left, once I’d gotten through them all, then I’d go back and have a very long experimenting session.

I had missed playing with my chemistry set recently; reading about experiments wasn't the same as actually _doing_ them. Doing those experiments, albeit very simple ones, yesterday with John had actually been fun. We had had a good time together, and it had all felt normal again, something I had sorely missed. I’d missed ‘normal’ a lot, and missed being with John even more. I wondered if he’d be willing to join in with more experiments in the future... I wondered if he was going to continue living at 221b when I got home.

_Of course he isn’t, what the hell makes you think that he will?_ He’d made reference to us both living in Baker Street yesterday; I assumed that meant that he was staying. _John probably meant that you were the only one staying on Baker Street, but used ‘we’ to not freak you out further._ We needed to discuss this at some point, before I made a move to go back to Baker Street on a more permanent basis. _Oh there’s a **lot** you need to talk about. I think that freak out needs an explanation. _Fuck, it probably did.

“Ah Sherlock, there you are! Have fun yesterday?” Hardwick made me jump. Had three hours already passed? Damn, time flies when you’re thinking about possible flatmates leaving and science.

“I spent two hours using my chemistry set, and teaching John about important chemicals.” I cut to the chase, not _really_ wanting the inane small talk. Better to give the highlights and talk endlessly about my feelings so we could eventually move on.

“Ah, I knew that putting up that chemistry set would prove to be handy. And was that alright, nothing triggering or worrying about it?” Hardwick asked, sliding into her usual seat. It was actually the chair I had deemed as John’s when he came over, but she also used it during therapy, as I was unwilling to give up my own seat.

“Nope, I was fine, even when things did make a bit of a banging sound.” I really shouldn’t have felt as proud as I did for that, but there we go, couldn't be helped. ‘It’s all about the small things’ as Hardwick put it once.

“Great! That’s really great Sherlock; it’s good to hear that you’re getting back into some of your old loves, though I never thought John joined in with experiments. I didn't think you would allow him to, in case he messed something up by accident.” Hardwick looked confused for a second.

“I don’t usually, for the most part I experiment by myself because it’s delicate and I don’t want any variables I can’t control. But because these were simpler and more of a practice run, John asked to help, so I let him.” I shrugged; I wouldn’t _usually_ let someone help me. But, it was _John,_ and I missed him, and Baker Street, and there had been a _chemistry set,_ and having all of those things in one place was impossible to ignore. I wanted to hold all those things together and keep it all close, so I could feel _normal,_ or at least something close to it.

“Ah, I get that. That makes sense; do you think you’ll let him help in the future?” Hardwick asked, scribbling down the notes.

“Maybe, I’m not sure. It’s difficult to say. I’ll have to see what happens when I go back to Baker Street.” _And see if John stays._ And that.

“Alright then, that is fair enough. Now, how did you feel when you first saw Baker Street?” shit, that didn't take long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments/kudos! Last update as a 19 year old, AH!


	226. Chapter 226

225 Sherlock's POV                                        

“I... I didn't like how bare it was... I guess because I’m used to it being so _full_ with all the things that have been transferred here. It was a bit of a shock.” _You’re telling me that, you nearly had a panic attack!_ It wasn't a _panic attack_ per se, it was... it was a bit of anxiety, I handled it. _By running to a violin,_ and playing along to the music in mental sensory room, just like I was supposed to! I was told to go to the sensory room when I needed it, that was what I did, and it _worked._ That was all that mattered. _And if this happens again?_ If something like this happened again at the flat, I would be prepared for it, I had been unprepared, that was all. _Keep telling yourself that._

“That is very understandable, and you handled it well considering the circumstances, you should be very proud of yourself. Not many in your position would have been as brave.” Hardwick answered, giving me a look that said she was planning something on the quiet.

“It’s not bravery; it’s dealing with things in our own way. If you think facing a room devoid of its usual comforts needs _bravery_ then you are sorely mistaken.” I glared at her, because I hadn’t been _brave_ or any of that shit. I had faced a room, felt anxiety because my things were missing, and _dealt_ with it, like anybody else would. Bravery came nowhere near it.

“I apologise, bravery was the wrong word. I meant to say that it took a lot of... _self awareness_ to figure out how to calm yourself down and doing it without prompting.” Hardwick thankfully looked like she was a bit sorry for her wording.

“Better.” I let her off; I had heard worse from others when talking about my less than desirable coping methods.

“Anyway, do you think you would be ready for some other outing? Somewhere different this time, another part of London you are fond of perhaps?” Hardwick asked.

“Not right now. I think... I think I need a little time first.” I wanted to go back into London, to breathe in the air and be back in its beating heart, but I wasn't ready. I _knew_ I wasn't ready, deep inside. It had been months since I had been a part of the bustle of London’s crowds, assaulted with all the smells and sounds, all the deductions flying at me. And who knew how I would cope with all the unexpected noise, what if a car backfired suddenly? I could easily misinterpret that as a gun, and who knew how I would react to that? Anything like cars backfiring could set me off; I needed time to adjust, to figure out how I was going to handle this.

“Of course I was planning on giving you time Sherlock, I didn't mean going out this week! I meant in the future, how would you feel about going out in the future somewhere? And do you have any ideas on where you would like to go? If we have an idea of what will come up in that scenario, we can work on how to desensitise you to that situation.” Hardwick explained, at least she wasn't planning on sending me straight out somewhere. I really wouldn’t have coped with that.

“Oh, erm... I don’t know.” I didn't really know to be honest. Most of the time I jumped between Baker Street, St Bart’s and Scotland Yard, I couldn't go to two of those for obvious reasons, and the other I had just been back to. I didn't really do the tourist type things, they held no enjoyment for me. But what else was there? I just, there was no other place to go.

“Other than St Bart’s and Scotland Yard, where else did you go on a frequent basis? Or was there some place you especially enjoyed being? I heard that you have certain bolt holes around London where you feel safe when the world gets too much, could you go to one of those?” Hardwick suggested.

“They’re all a bit quiet.” Apart from Big Ben, then that got a bit loud whenever the bell chimed, apart from this one small cubby hole I had found once. I usually sat in there when I was inside Big Ben, I could hear the bell chime, but it wasn't deafening.

But, I wasn't keen on anyone finding out my bolt holes, they were _my_ safe places that nobody would think to look for me inside. Nobody knew to this day about my short stay in Leinster Gardens. _And wasn't that a fun couple of days? In the dark and the cold, thinking that nobody loves you._

“Hmm, how about a restaurant? Didn't you and John go out for meals after cases?” Hardwick suggested, that... that might have just worked...

“We could go to Angelo’s I guess. He’s a friend, and his food is always good, while his restaurant isn’t that crowded, we could go there I guess.” I figured it would be okay. _You did reveal yourself to be alive to John there. He hit you in the face and told you to never speak to him again._ We could rewrite over those memories. _Who says John is going with you?_ Who else would? _Mycroft,_ I doubted that highly!

“Sounds like a great place to start. Now what kind of issues do you think you could run into at Angelo’s?” Hardwick got to work, not leaving a stone unturned, which was a good thing really. The more prepared I could be, the better. And I really wanted to be better now, really, really wanted to be. I had been back at Baker Street again, and I _missed_ it so much, I wanted to go back. I wanted to go back and stay there, I needed it so much, anyway I could get there faster, I’d do it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Easter guys! And if you don't celebrate, then happy holidays/weekend! :)


	227. Chapter 227

226 Sherlock's POV

Slowly, over time, I worked with Hardwick and figured out coping mechanisms with most social places in London, and put them into practice. We worked our way round Angelo’s (he was delighted to see us again, and overall the trip wasn't too bad, previous memories not included), London’s back alleys (remapping London would be a priority when I moved back to Baker Street), Hyde Park, and even an area near the Thames. And I _didn't freak out;_ I looked out at that large body of dirty water, and didn't have a complete meltdown.

I felt _anxiety,_ as in my heart started pounding more and the air got a bit thin, but I got through it relatively unharmed. The barrel was still hanging over my head, ready to tip over at any moment, but I could shove it away, at least hide it behind the correct door again and hide in my sensory room. Music played through my head near constantly near that river, but I got through, and it _worked._  John helped too, by sensing that I wasn't okay in that moment and reaching out to hold my hand, promising that everything was okay now. I wasn't going to be hurt, or taken away, or anything. he thought I was remembering my last day of freedom before I went to Mycroft’s, and I didn't bother to correct him on it, figuring he didn't really need correcting, and that I didn't want to go into my real fears right here.

I even managed to keep my promise to Mrs Hudson, too, managing to phone her every weekend, our chats didn't last that long, and mostly consisted of her doing most of the talking, but it was a nice end to a week. I was only hearing Baker Street related gossip, but I didn't mind it that much, it made the loneliness recede a little while I was alone with only Loki for comfort in Mycroft’s mansion.

Sometimes, I ended up phoning Lestrade, too, because we were starting to talk about crime scenes and getting back to work in therapy. I should have probably started making attempts to talk to Lestrade and inform him what was going on. He had been kept in the dark an awfully long time as of late.

“So you think you’ll need to see some cold case files soon?” Lestrade concluded on one of our conversations.

“Yes, within the next few weeks from what I have inferred from Hardwick.” I refused to say therapist to him. _No need to remind him that you’ve been broken for months._

“Alright, I can sort that out easy; I kept a tray specifically for this reason. Want me to come up to you or will you come down to Scotland Yard to collect them?” Lestrade asked, I didn't actually know. _Do you really want to face Scotland Yard right now?_

“Could you come here? I mean... the Yard...” _don’t remind him of what happened the last few times you saw each other, don’t do it._

“I understand kiddo; I’ll come to you on my day off, no problem.” Lestrade didn't _sound_ put out by the idea.

“Thanks.” I still didn't like _thanking_ people, it was weird, I never thanked Lestrade for things. _Maybe you should start to._

“Like I said, no problem. It’ll be good to see you again; it’s been far too long. And it means I get to see your mysterious brother’s house, is it really as big as John describes? He makes it sound like it’s some sort of palace the Queen should be living in!” Lestrade laughed a bit, and I did too, I could just imagine John’s descriptions of Mycroft’s house.

“John does like to exaggerate, but it isn’t palace sized. My brother runs England, but he isn’t _that_ obvious about it.” to anybody who asked, the owner of this house was a landed gentry recluse who never left. They didn't even know the assumed name Mycroft had bought the house under, everything was horrendously top secret it had actually tipped from interesting to _dull._

“You could have fooled me, with all his secret warehouse meetings and kidnapping! He scared the bloody life out of me the first time he did that to me.” Lestrade made me smile again, that had always been a sore point for him, I personally found it quite funny that he was _still_ unnerved now by Mycroft’s power.

“Anyway, I gotta go lad, I have a tonne of paperwork on the go, and three other open investigations to look into. Call me when you need me and I’ll be up as soon as possible.” Lestrade sighed, “Have a good one, until I see you.” He hung up.

It didn't take much longer for him to get invited up, only two weeks of more monotonous therapy sessions filled with _talking_ all about how I may react to seeing photos of bodies again. It was all getting incredibly dull at this point; I wanted to _do,_ not talk! I had had enough of talking about my own thoughts, I wanted to get back to crime solving again damn it! Being here was getting boring, and I only had so many experiments to do before I lost interest, as there were no bodies to use. I was still banned from using bodies under Hardwick’s orders, so I was stuck with just chemicals, and it was _boring, boring, BORING!_ And while seeing me bored was making everyone else happy, it wasn't making _me_ happy, I needed something to do! I needed a bloody puzzle already!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I nearly forgot to update today, thanks to the bank holiday, lack of sleep, and a huge amount of assignments! Sorry about that, if I miss another chapter at some point in the next month, then blame the assignments melting my brain!


	228. Chapter 228

227 Lestrade's POV

As I started to pack up to go home for the evening, I got a text.

‘Your presence is required. Bring previously discussed documents. MH.’

Jesus, Mycroft was about as blunt has his brother, par for the course though I guess; the two were eerily similar in some ways. I wasn't going to argue, though, so I made sure to pick up the cold case files from my drawer and set out to go home. I’d be up bright and early tomorrow, I was sure of it.

“Going home early, not like you Lestrade.” Donovan commented, looking up from typing a report.

“It is when I have a long day tomorrow.” Thinking about it, it was going to probably be a long one. We were showing Sherlock _crime scene photos_ again, it had been a very long time since he had been faced with those. And it had been almost the exact same amount of time since I had seen the kid, and after our last meeting, I didn't quite know what to expect.

“Oh, going anywhere nice?” Donovan’s eyebrow raised, I considered telling her for a minute. Probably best to warn her that Sherlock may be back on the scene again soon... God she better take this well, I didn't exactly want to suspend her; she was a good copper really. She just... she just _really_ didn't like Sherlock and liked to make sure he knew it.

“Consulting Sherlock on a few of our cold cases. He’s getting bored at his brother’s place.” To the point, knock it on the head and hope for the best.

“Lovely. Does that mean His Highness will be back and causing trouble again soon?” Donovan’s face went from warm to stone cold in seconds. She could have said worse I guess.

“Hopefully yes. And I want to remind you _and_ Anderson to be nice to him; he’s been through a lot and does not deserve your insults.” Also best to remind her she was on _very_ thin ice when it came to Sherlock.

“Of course not, we should all revere the man who faked his death, and then came back to _attack_ you, and have a meltdown all over a crime scene, before begging John to kill him at a graveyard.” Donovan sneered, God I was going to have to change her rotas whenever Sherlock was around again. Lord give me strength, and Sherlock some too when he came back, unless that thick skin had grown back... actually no, still then.

“Not a _word_ Donovan, he’s been _ill,_ he isn’t to blame for his actions, and if I hear you say otherwise one more time, I’ll send you down to disciplinary, alright?” with that I left the building, going home to catch some rest before seeing Sherlock the next day.

\--                                                                                                

The car that pulled up outside my house was unmistakably Mycroft’s. Sleek black, blacked out windows, driver waiting to open the door. The only thing missing was the nameless woman with the Blackberry. Everything else was in place.

It was a nice surprise to find that John was in the car too, I had figured he had work that morning.

“No, got the day off. Figured I may be useful with crime solving.” Neither of us pointed out the obvious, that he was there for Sherlock’s moral support. Did he really need moral support now for _crime scene photos?_ Was this what he had been reduced to? I was getting a bit worried about how this was going to end...

“Hey, don’t look so worried, Sherlock’s fine. He’s getting better by the day; you don’t need to worry about him.” John promised, he looked sincere, but damn it this was _Sherlock,_ I had seen him bad in the past. But the last time I had been with him was the worst state I had ever seen him in, and I’d seen him suicidal _and_ overdosing. This was a bit worrying, now that I was faced with seeing the once great man again.

“You sure? He isn’t, I don’t know, going to have a too bad a reaction today is he? I don’t want to set him back in his recovery.” I’d never forgive myself I did, seeing how he had been before, I never wanted to see that again.

“You won’t, he’s alright. He may panic a bit, but he’ll be okay, you won’t set him back. If you do, we’ll work on it, just like we have done with everything else.” John explained, I was suddenly quite glad he was here, so I could actually ask him this stuff, I feared I would have been worse on my own in this.

“Good, that’s good... How is he, personality wise? Anything like what we’re used to? Is there anything I should avoid talking about?” I needed to know if there was, how else would I avoid unnecessary trauma on Sherlock’s behalf?

“Complaining about being bored currently. If he had a gun, I’m sure he’d be shooting at the walls already. Yesterday I caught him trying to teach Loki to growl at Mycroft whenever he comes by.” John smiled fondly, now that I could imagine Sherlock doing.

“Loki is the dog right?” just had to make sure.

“What? Oh yeah, yeah he is. Sorry, I forgot you haven’t met Loki yet, yeah he’s Sherlock’s dog. He’s a therapy dog who helps Sherlock with his anxiety issues, and helps with a few of his tics. Don’t worry about him though, he won’t get in the way, he’ll mostly just sit by Sherlock and do not much else unless he’s needed.” John answered, “In fact, he’ll have to come to crime scenes with us when Sherlock gets out, that’ll be okay, right? I don’t know if it’s a good idea to leave Loki outside the tape.” He bit his lip.

“The higher ups won’t be happy about it, but if he’s there for a medical reason, there’s no reason why we can’t factor in a dog in the mix.” I shrugged, I wouldn’t mind too much as long as the dog didn't contaminate anything. It was everyone else we would have to battle.

“Thanks Greg, that’ll mean a lot to Sherlock. Loki is currently a big part of his life, and I don’t think he would get by without him at the moment.” John turned to look out the window, “And as luck would have it, we’re here.”

I turned to look out the window myself, seeing the _biggest bloody mansion_ I had ever seen in my life. Fucking hell, it was _huge!_

“You weren’t kidding when you said a bloody mansion.” I stared in awe at the place, _fuck._

“Wait until you see the inside.” John smirked, getting out of the car and heading up to Mycroft.

“Ah Lestrade, good to see you again. Now if you would let me look over those files first, I can get you to Sherlock right away.” Mycroft greeted, perusing the files, “All in order I see. Good, this way to Sherlock.”

I gulped in anticipation, unsure what to expect from this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments/kudos, it's keeping me sane while I try and do some assignments, and work out this new fic - it's a lot harder than I first thought!


	229. Chapter 229

228 Sherlock's POV

I wasn't sure if I was excited or scared for Lestrade’s arrival. I mean, I wanted to see him, and to see if I could get through looking at crime scene photos. But what if I _couldn't_ get through it though? What if I couldn't see these photos without freaking out? I didn't want to have a panic attack in front of Lestrade, or anything like that. I _needed_ to prove to him that I was ready, I couldn't... I couldn't _not_ get through this. What would I do without cases? I had nothing outside of cases; I needed them more than anything. The boredom would get too much; I didn't know what I would do now without cases. _Wither away and die._

Oh God, what was I going to do if this didn't work out? What if, what if I got too many flashbacks, or revealed something I didn't want Lestrade to hear. Wait, what if I couldn't deduce like I used to? It had been so long, and I’d tried my best to keep it up recently, but I hadn’t deduced _crime scenes_ in over a year! _Wow, you’re fucked if you can’t deduce._

Loki licked at my face, but it wasn't much use at the moment. I wasn't okay, I _really_ wasn't okay. There was so much that could go wrong today! So much could go wrong and this was determining my future! If I couldn't do this, this was it for me. I had to do this or I had nothing. Had to be able to do this, or Lestrade would never look at me in the same way, and I’d never trust myself at a crime scene again, if I ever got back to them. Fuck this waiting was torture!

There was a knock on the door to my sensory room. Shit.

“Sherlock? Can we come in?” John asked, thank God he was here too. _You’re so pathetically clingy it’s painful._

“Yeah.” I didn't exactly have a choice.

The door opened, John entered first, soon followed by Lestrade. He looked quite worried, and slightly scared. _He’s scared to see you; you did attack him and have a major meltdown._

“Morning, how are you?” John came in and sat next to me on my mattress, Lestrade hung back.

“Alright.” I shrugged, stroking Loki’s fur as he looked curiously at Lestrade, “Have you got the files?” no point in beating around the bush either. Awkward questions between me and Lestrade would be pointless, cutting to the chase was better on every level.

“What? Oh yeah, I’ve got a couple I’ve had saved.” Lestrade waved the files, “How... How have you been?”

“Bored, mostly.” I answered; it was true, and true of what Lestrade knew of me too.

“Same as always then.” Lestrade flashed a smile, shuffling on the spot.

Awkward silence.

“Are you going to stand there all day or are you going to show me these files?” _oh, that was a bit demanding. Should you really be demanding things right now? You could scare Lestrade; make him think that you’re going to attack him again._

“Right, right, yeah. I’ve got one burglary case and two homicides. The burglary is older than the homicides, so we need to start with that one.” Lestrade came over and handed me the file. He was lying, one of the homicides was older, judging by the file holding it, but I wasn't going to point that out. I understood the reasoning behind his lies this time, start me off slow with a simple case, give me a sense of security before we got into the blood and gore again. I’d have done the same.

“Why don’t you sit down too Greg?” John moved over on the mattress, giving the inspector space to sit on his other side. Lestrade sat down, fiddling with the other files as I looked over the photos.

The crime scene was of a very large living room, all the furniture overturned, TV smashed to pieces, and all the usual expensive items still there.

“What was reported stolen?” had to be something like jewellery, possibly silver or gold, judging by the wealth indicated by the wrecked furniture.

“Two paintings. Not by anybody famous, but apparently they were very dear to the owner, something like family heirlooms. Other than that, everything was left alone. We questioned the family and searched their homes and found no evidence of them being the culprits.” Lestrade explained, the rest of the explanation fading out as I studied what was left.

**Family photos on the wall. All posed, professional photos. Smiles are forced, started being forced around... 2012 if that inscription was right. Husband was having an affair, with his secretary, _how dull,_ broke it off when wife got pregnant for the third time. Wife never forgave husband. Secretary wasn't happy with being dumped, decided to take retribution and took things of meaning from the husband. Has probably sold them on since then, to hide the evidence. **

“Look into the husband’s secretary, she wasn't happy after being dumped for the wife, so took things of sentimental value to,” wait a minute, that would have been too simple, even Scotland Yard could have gotten that, but there was something else. Something more to this.

“Oh... OH, it wasn't just the secretary; the wife is in on the burglary too! She wasn't happy that her husband was sleeping around, and only coming back out of a sense of duty to their baby. She felt that her sense of trust in him was gone, and lost all sentimental feelings towards him too, so she took something of sentimental value from him. She helped the secretary get revenge and helped her sell the paintings onto another, splitting the profits.” The deductions flew at me from what felt like nowhere, but it was all there now that I looked closely at the photos. The most recent photos the wife was far more content, she had plotted her revenge on her husband and was waiting for it to be enacted. It was all so _simple!_

And oh so bloody _good_ to be back to doing this again. I had missed seeing all of this, reading crime scenes like others read books, gaining facts and putting them together like this. It was Christmas, getting this back! Even if it was just a few photos of a burglary.

“That’s brilliant.” John had my head whipping around to look at him. How long had it been since he had given me that look of amazement, because of my deductions? How long had it been since he had called me _brilliant?_ Too long, far too long.

“Simple really, if you know where to look.” I knew where to look, it was second nature. It had always been second nature, reading crime scenes like that, and it had been almost _easy._ After so long I thought it would have been harder to manage, but it wasn't. Not this time, not with this case anyway. _You haven’t looked at the other one yet. Wait to see what happens when you come across blood and dead bodies again._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments and the kudos! I've finished one essay (at last) and am now onto my 10-15 page play and my website creative pieces/analysis, so I should be done soon... if I'm lucky lol! Then I can really focus on my new fic, which currently is proving to be rather difficult to write!


	230. Chapter 230

229 Sherlock's POV

“Really? The wife and mistress in cahoots, we didn't even pick up that there was a bloody mistress.” Lestrade scribbled down my deductions, picking up the next file, “Now this one is a little... well it’s a bit more gruesome than the last. We’re dealing with a body this time.” he hesitated before handing it over.

“I’ll be fine Lestrade, give it over.” I could handle this, I felt confident, I could do this. I may have a wobble at first, but I would get through it, I _had_ to, solving murder-less cases, with no chances of serial killers or anything else, would get really boring really quickly. I needed the murder too, needed to have that type of adrenaline.

“We can have a break first if you like, this isn’t a race.” John reminded me, like Hardwick hadn’t been saying that for days now. The only reason why she wasn't here was because I had banned her from it, I wasn't allowing her near Lestrade, it was bad enough that I was in my sensory room, I didn't want any more reminders that I wasn't _normal_ right now. _Trust me, nobody is forgetting anytime soon._

“I want to carry on.” While I was feeling confident, while I was in the mood. I wasn't bored or scared right now, I was _excited,_ and I felt _normal._ I needed this right now!

“Alright, but we can stop if you need it.” John handed over the next file.

I hastened to open the file, being hit straight away with crime scene photos. Ten photos in total, showing two bodies, stabbed multiple times in the chest. Blood was _everywhere,_ spread across the hardwood flooring, soaking through clothes and staining skin. Cold, dead eyes stared at the camera, not a hint of life behind the couple’s eyes.

A cold sense of dread seeped through my veins as I looked at them, seeing all the carnage, the _destruction,_ one person had caused. Definitely one person had done this. Had snuck up behind the male and slit his throat before he had had a chance to react. I could see the killer in my mind now, the killer sneaking up behind the man, slitting his throat, spinning round and stabbing the woman in the stomach before turning back and stabbing the man repeatedly in the chest, despite the fact that he wasn't going to fight back. He was dead before the stabbing stopped.

The killer had gone back for the woman and stabbed her multiple times through the chest and stomach, finishing her off with a stab to the heart. It could have only lasted five minutes in total, and they had been left there for hours before anybody had discovered them. Neither had made a sound, apart from the wet sucking sound the knife made when it was pulled out of their bodies, blood sticking their skin together as the knife ripped it apart.

I could see it all in my mind’s eye, could see it happening behind my eyes, hear every sound the knife would have made. It was... I couldn't... I could _smell_ the blood, feel it clinging to my hands and clothes, the warmth seeping into my skin as their bodies went cold. I could see it all, had been the cause of many stabbings, had been stabbed myself. It was all _right there,_ in my mind.

“Sherlock? Sherlock, its okay. You’re safe.” John’s hand touched mine, Loki’s tongue licking at my cheek.

“We can have a break, this isn’t an urgent case, I can wait for results.” Lestrade started to take the file away, I grabbed it back.

“No! I can do it, I can! Just, just give me a minute.” I could do this, for God’s sake I was only looking at _pictures_ of a crime scene, I had seen worse close up! I had caused worse myself in the past too! _Not the best thing to think of in front of a policeman._ Oh shut it.

I forced myself to stare at the pictures, looking over everything, forcing away the smell and the memories. **Deductions, deductions. Analyse the blood splatter, where the stab wounds are, why the killer went for the male first.** I had nothing, it wasn't coming to me! All I could see was the stabbing motion, feel my stomach tighten in memory of being stabbed. I could feel blood _dripping_ off my face, could feel it seeping through my clothes, I couldn't deduce, only _remember._

“What do you need Sherlock? Tell me what you need.” John asked, hand tightening around my own.

“I... I don’t know.” I didn't know what I needed, apart from making this all go away! I needed it to go away right now!

“Alright, tell me what you’ve seen already, what can you tell from the photos already?” John asked.

“I don’t know. I don’t know.” I couldn't read the scene like I used to! I couldn't see _anything,_ but I couldn't give up on this! I had no choice; I had to be able to do this! _You’re having a breakdown in front of Lestrade; he’s really not going to think of that as a good sign._

“Yes you do, you always do. Come on, walk me through it, what do the photos tell you?” John prompted, lifting up photos for me to look at.

“They, they were stabbed, and their throats cut.” And anybody could see that, it wasn't _useful_ information.

“Alright, what do you think was done first, and to who?” John prompted; I told him that the man was incapacitated first.

“Good, that’s good. Did you know that Lestrade?” John turned to the inspector.

“No, we figured that that was a possibility, but we couldn't be sure.” Lestrade shrugged, chewing on a nail. _He’s scared, look at him; he has no idea about what to do with you._

“There we go; we’re already giving Greg more to go on. Now why do you think the killer did that, huh? Why go after a couple in the first place, and why take down the man first? Maybe because he was bigger than the killer? You know, incapacitate the larger one first, so then they can take their time with the other victim?” John looked through the photos, and something caught my eye.

“No, wait a minute. Give that here.” I took the photo from his hands, looking it over, something wasn't quite right.

“The man’s wounds... they aren’t right.” I looked closer; the wounds weren’t the same as the other victims. They were sloppier... could be from a tired arm I guessed, but it looked more like, well, _hesitance._

OH! Everything came flying at me again, piecing itself together so fast I barely had time to keep up.

“The main victim is the female, that was who the killer was targeting, but they had to get rid of the male one first in fear of being taken down before their revenge was completed. So they slit the man’s throat, making sure he stays down before going after the woman, but then that left two different murder methods. The stabbing to the male victim was done to throw the police off, making it look like the murderer wanted to kill both the victims, but they really just wanted to kill the female. The male was something that they weren’t planning on, so they had to act fast, hence the slit throat. The extra stab wounds are hesitant, the killer knew it was over kill but it was all in aid of hiding their true motive. Look for people in the female victim’s life who may have wanted to kill her, look for ex-lovers; they’re the most likely candidate. They’ll be physically weaker than the male victim, someone who definitely wouldn’t have stood a chance in a fight against him.”

It all came out without me even filtering it; it all came to life inside my head just like that.

“Incredible. All that from a photo.” John grinned up at me, he looked so proud of me again. And really, I felt proud of me too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments and the kudos!


	231. Chapter 231

230 Lestrade's POV                                                                                        

We left the third case for another day, figuring that it would do Sherlock some good to have a break, because... _wow,_ I hadn’t expected that to happen. I didn't really know what I had expected, but it certainly hadn’t been clinging to John and needing to be talked through the deductions until he had a brain wave. I had thought that he’d been straight at it, just like before. Or at least, that had been what I had hoped for anyway. It was wishful thinking, and considering how that could have gone, that was bloody good going. John was acting like it was anyway. Sherlock on the other hand looked exhausted and quite rattled. I never thought that crime scene photos would rattle Sherlock. Then again, I never thought I’d ever see him have the breakdown that he had had. Anything was possible I guessed.

“So... this is the famous Loki I’ve heard so much about, he’s a cute one.” I changed the subject before it got awkward.

“I wouldn’t call him cute exactly; he malts a bit too much for that.” Sherlock petted the dog’s head, who seemed to be loving the attention.

“Ah but that’s part of having a dog I guess. Mind if I pet him?” I had always loved dogs, but the building I lived in wouldn’t let me have pets. I would have had one before, with the wife, but, well, she wasn't exactly one for pets.

“Go ahead.” Sherlock shrugged, the dog looked between the two of us, “Go on, get used to him.” Sherlock nodded his head towards me. Loki plodded over, letting me pet him, all but turning into putty in my hands.

“He’s a trained dog; he doesn’t act like the trained ones at the Yard.” I hadn’t really seen that much of the k-9 unit, but I swore that they didn't act like Loki most of the time.

“Loki isn’t trained for drug sniffing or anything like that, though I guess I could train him up to do something similar.” Sherlock looked down at the dog like he was planning an experiment.

“Oh no you’re not even trying that. You’re already teaching him to bark at Mycroft, you’re not training him to do anything else, other than what he’s meant to do.” John immediately put his foot down, now _that_ was a familiar look between the two of them. Almost like nothing had changed.

“Why not? It could help speed up time at a crime scene, we could sniff out a killer, or find more evidence, or find bodies,” Sherlock winced slightly, “There are many applications to training Loki up for a life of crime solving.”

“Yes but let’s not distract him from his main purpose Sherlock, if we give him too many things to do, he’ll be overwhelmed and confused.” John had a point, though Sherlock still pouted at him, “And that look isn’t changing my mind. I’m immune to your pouts by now.” there was a teasing tone underneath the exasperation. If we weren’t sat in this special room, whatever it was, and Sherlock hadn’t just had that funny turn, I could have mistaken this for just another conversation at 221b.

“I’m still teaching him to growl at Mycroft.” Sherlock pouted.

“Fine. But only at Mycroft, alright?” John nudged our detective in the side, it was good to see their camaraderie back, it had been missing for too long.

“Speaking of your mysterious brother, how the hell can he afford a place like this? And _why_ does he need such a massive place when there’s only him?” I asked, I had been wondering it ever since we drove up to the front of the house. This place was _massive,_ the biggest house I had ever stepped into. And it was Sherlock’s _brothers._ I’d known the two were posh, but _damn,_ they were seriously loaded. It made you wonder why Sherlock needed a flat share all those years ago, maybe he’d grown tired of being alone...

We talked freely for the rest of the time given to us, even managing to have dinner together with Mycroft, which was weird. Everyone else seemed fine with the arrangement, I still wasn't sure of the man. We had only ever spoken about Sherlock, and generally about his drug habit or something to that affect, so this was very strange. Nice though, I guessed.

But then, John and I had to head home. Sherlock was starting to look exhausted and pale, and as a result was getting a bit cranky. I’d have joked that nothing had changed from before his fall in that respect, but decided against it. Instead I wished the man a good night, nodded politely to Mycroft, and promised to come back against soon before getting back into the car for it to slide off soundlessly the second the door was closed.

“Well that was... eventful I guess.” I thumbed at the file, unsure on how to take that meeting. It had been good to see Sherlock, and see that he was a) alive and b) getting better, but I was still concerned about him. He wasn't... his reaction to the photos still worried me. If Sherlock didn't have cases, I _really_ didn't want to think of what he’d do. All I could guess was go back to drugs again, and he was too clever to squander his life away to that, especially after everything he’d been through.

“That was a very good day, all things considered.” John told me, “He’s had worse reactions to smaller things. He, well he had a worse reaction to other things during his therapy, the aftermath wasn't pretty.”

“I can imagine.” I’d been there before, seen some awful things in the past, and only a few of those had involved Sherlock.

“He’s getting better, a lot better actually. If you had shown him those crime scene photos a couple of months ago, he would have probably had a huge meltdown, possibly ended catatonic, depending on how gruesome the photos were.” John explained.

“Catatonic?” I gulped.                                

“It’s only happened once or twice, when he’s _really_ freaked out. Sometimes he just has a panic attack, and while that’s hard to deal with, it’s easier that seeing him completely catatonic.” John bit at his lip as he stared at the window, he looked tired, he’d been in the centre of this for months with no let up. I dreaded to think what he had seen Sherlock go through, it must have been heartbreaking.

“Jesus, I didn't think... that’s a lot to deal with... have you been okay John?” I knew what it was like to have to deal with Sherlock when he hadn’t been well. I’d watched him go through drug withdrawal far too many times, seen how he could rip his own brain to shreds. No-one should go through that alone, I should have been here for the both of them more than I had been. I just, I just got so caught up with work. Without Sherlock I was left to solve all the cases by myself, and it was taking up all my time.

“I’ve been alright. I’m getting through.” John shrugged, “Sherlock’s the one who’s in trouble, not me.”

“Yeah but watching him is hard sometimes. He tears his own mind apart so easily, and all I had to do was keep him away from drugs, you’re dealing with what could be referred to as a time bomb at times.” I clapped a hand on his shoulder, “If you need anything, just ask. You can talk to me about what’s going on, or I can go up to see him if you need a day off. I haven’t been there enough for you two; I will be from now on.”

“Thanks Greg, I may take you up on that some day.” John smiled, looking relieved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments and the kudos, it really means so much to me!


	232. Chapter 232

231 Sherlock's POV

I’d managed it; I had solved two crimes today, from just photos. _And John’s help._ But I had managed it. I had solved crimes again, and it felt... it felt _good._ Panic attack aside, it felt _good_ to have that praise, to have that rush of adrenaline, to feel my brain working like that. Oh it felt good, I could get used to that again, I could really get used to that again.

_You still needed John’s help, though._ Well that was to be expected, it had been a while since I had last been near crime scene photos, being out of practice sometimes meant that a small boost was needed to get back into the swing of things. _You still needed John to prompt you, and had a panic attack in front of Lestrade. As in Lestrade, that man who **gives you the cases** in the first place. What do you think he thought of that huh? Do you think he’s going to think you’re sane enough to go back out in the field again? That you’re capable of being his crime solving sniffer dog? Because I don’t think so. _

“You’re worrying about something.” Hardwick said bluntly, interrupting my thoughts.

“No I’m not.” like I was telling her these worries, she would only tell me that I was worrying over nothing and all I needed was time to adjust and blah, blah, blah.

“Yes, I think you are actually. You’re worrying. Is it about the panic attack you had yesterday when looking at those photos?” _well that’s pretty close to the mark._

“No. I’m not worried, there’s nothing to be worried about.” There was nothing to be worried about. I’d get better; I’d get back into the swing of things easily enough, just like I did everything else. _You saw yourself getting stabbed and stabbing other people. That’s going to happen every time you see a crime scene with a similar murder method to what you did while playing dead. It’s not exactly going to be good for business._

“What aren’t you worried about then?” Hardwick asked, that was reverse psychology, I wasn't going to fall for that any time soon.

“That’s a stupid question.” I wasn't going to play this game. I was on a high, or at least _trying_ to be on a high, I’d rather not talk about anything other than the fact that I had _solved two crimes_ yesterday in the space of an hour, after not solving anything in _months,_ that was a bloody good achievement, could we focus on that?!

“Are you worried about having panic attacks every time you see a crime scene?” Hardwick asked.

“No.” I answered, _liar._

“Are you worried that you aren’t going to be able to deduce like you usually do?” Hardwick continued.

“Clearly not, as I’m always deducing and I managed just fine yesterday.” The proof was in the _solved cases_ that I had solved myself last night. _With John’s help._ Yes with John’s help but I still solved them!

“Are you worried you won’t be able to deduce a murder unless John helps you?” Hardwick was getting too close here.

“No because I can deduce just fine, alright?! I managed just fine yesterday and once I get used to solving crimes again I’ll manage by myself!” I would, I would. I really would! I wouldn’t need John to prompt me, or anyone else, I’d be able to deduce on my own!

“Are you sure about that?” Hardwick asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes!” _no._

“You don’t sound so sure about that.” Hardwick told me, really, she was using _that_ line?

“I am sure about that! I’ll manage just fine, just like I always do!” I always managed; I’d manage this, too. I just, I just needed to get back into the swing of things, that’s all...

“Sherlock, there’s no point in lying, I will find out the truth eventually.” Hardwick gave me a _look,_ trying to get me to say something more.

“I’m fine, I’ll manage okay? I always manage. I’ll get through the panics and the memories and then I won’t need John prompting me because I’ll be focused.” It sounded weak even to me, like I was trying to convince myself. _That’s because you are trying to convince yourself._

“I know you will, but the question is, do you believe that you will?” Hardwick asked softly.

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” I didn't know, I was scared that I wouldn’t, but I wanted to believe that I would. I _so_ wanted to believe that I would.

“Why don’t you know?” Hardwick shifted closer, Loki rested his head on my lap.

“I, I don’t know. I just... I deduced the robbery easy enough. But, I... the murder took longer, because I was distracted, and I don’t know if I’ll ever _not_ be distracted by my memories again.” I admitted, unable to look at her as I said it.

“Oh Sherlock, you will be able to deduce again, I’m sure of it. You just, you just need some more practice. You rushed in like a bull in a china shop, and it’s been so long since you’ve done any crime solving, it’s okay to be a little caught off guard, and to ask for help.” Hardwick told me, I knew she’d say something like that.

“I knew you would say something like that.” I mumbled, fiddling with one of Loki’s ears, he didn't seem to mind.

“I always say stuff like that; it’s part of the job.” Hardwick smiled, “But in all honesty Sherlock, you did amazingly well, all things considered. I didn't think you would do as well as you did, at least not as quickly as you did. You just need some time and some practice, and then you’ll be deducing everything just like you always do. Like you said, the robbery was easy, you just need some practice with the murder side of things and you’ll be back to normal.”

“What if I can’t? What if I can’t do it for all the memories in my head?” I had seen so much in such vivid detail, so many memories playing in my head, while looking at those photos. What would happen when I saw bodies right in front of me? I couldn't deduce for the memories, I dreaded to think what I’d do in front of a body itself.

“Well then we’ll work on it together, and if you really, really can’t do it, then we’ll look into a new career path for you. But I honestly think you’ll be fine, alright? You’ve managed incredibly well so far, and got through those crimes with relative ease. If you can do that now on a first run, then you’ll be steaming ahead later on with some practice.” Hardwick smiled again, squeezing my hand in encouragement.

“What if Lestrade doesn’t think I can anymore?” it didn't matter if I could or not, not really. If Lestrade didn't think I could deduce anymore, then I was done for. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa, 1600 comments, that's insane! Thank you guys!


	233. Chapter 233

232 Sherlock's POV

“Why do you think that Lestrade will think that you’re not capable of deducing anymore?” Hardwick asked, still giving me a sympathetic look. I still hated the sympathetic looks around here. I wasn't to be pitied; I was _fine,_ or at least getting there anyway.

“Because he, he saw me in there, didn't he? He saw what happened when I saw those photos, and saw John helping me get through it. He’ll... he’s... I don’t want him to think that I’m not capable, because I am.” I was capable, really, I was, I’d proved it just yesterday. I just... I just needed to practice, and some time to adjust back to it. It had been such a long time since I had been faced with a dead body, even photos of the dead, it was bound to be a shock. But once I got used to it, I’d be unstoppable again. _You’re hardly unstoppable; you’re in bloody therapy right now._

“Right, I can see why you would be scared thanks to that... are you also worried, thanks to what happened before you came here?” Hardwick looked me straight in the eye, not edging around the subject at all. I didn't even know if that was a good or bad thing.

“Maybe... I don’t know. I apologised for hurting him, but I never... I never explained what happened by the Thames.” I realised that I hadn’t, I hadn’t ever explained what had gone on down there, or anything. I hadn’t explained anything at all to him. _And how is Lestrade supposed to trust you back on crime scenes when you’re likely to freak out, and you haven’t even bothered to tell him why you’ve been a complete freak?_ He understood the drugs thing, and helped me then...

“Do you want to explain what happened by the Thames to him?” Hardwick continued to look at me, but I couldn't look at her. Remembering that day, all that pain and fear, thinking that I was better off dead... it wasn't pleasant. I didn't want to think about it.

I shrugged in answer to the question, unsure myself. I wanted Lestrade to trust me again, but I wasn't sure if I could explain to him exactly why I freaked out. I didn't want him to know about Serbia, or Korea, or anything like that really. I didn't want him to wrap me in cotton wall, or think that I was less of a person for what I’d gone through. I just wanted him to continue on like before, where he trusted me to solve his cases and sometimes asked how I was, but mostly just let me get on with my own thing. He was a father figure to me if I was honest, he was there, watching over me all the time, but was far enough back that he wasn't suffocating. I didn't want that to change, simply because he’d found out about what had happened to me in the past.

“Well I think he’s mostly worked out that you weren’t well at the time and so reacted badly. But, I think you should talk to him a bit, about these fears of yours. I’m sure that you’re worrying yourself over nothing, Lestrade seems like a very trusting and understanding man, and he’ll be happy to let you consult again as soon as you feel ready for it.” Hardwick told me.

“Is talking to people your answer to everything?” it seemed like it was, and I was starting to get a bit tired of it. Talking was _boring,_ more boring than breathing. Deducing and things like that, that was fun. Talking about emotions and explaining away my reactions to things was decidedly _not fun._

“It is when I think it’ll help. Talking clears the air between people, and helps you to understand each other, so you’re all on the same page. It’s a useful thing to do with your loved ones every once in a while.” Hardwick caught my glare, “But if you don’t want to talk just yet, that’s okay. Lestrade coming here in the first place is a good sign, and I mean, you did still solve the case in front of him, so he knows that you are capable of helping him. If you want, we can spend a few sessions going through other cold case files together, and we can see where you’re getting triggered, and work out ways to get round it.” now _that_ sounded more like a plan.

“Fine. And then I’ll go back to Baker Street?” I asked, desperate to go home. _Oh stop with the going home thing, it’s just a bloody flat._ The flat meant my _life_ was back again, and I wanted my damn life back.

“I’ll think about it.” Hardwick answered, that was _not_ an answer. I wanted a bloody answer!

“That’s not an answer. You promised that once I was able to solve crimes again from photos, you’d integrate me back into Baker Street and my old life.” I could remember her exact words from when she said it; she couldn't back out on me now! _She’s a bloody therapist, she can do whatever she bloody well pleases, haven’t you learnt that yet?_

“I did say that, and I will see if you’re ready to start going back to Baker Street when we sort this out. You still have things that you need help with, and I can help you with that while we slowly get you moving back to your flat, but-” I cut her off.

“Things like what? I’m fine with water now, and I’m not attacking anybody who comes near me, and I’m not having nightmares. What the hell else could need fixing exactly?” I was fine now damn it. I didn't need yet more bloody therapy.

“Sherlock, trust me, I just have one or two things I would like to address later on, that’s all. And we’ll get to them once we have solved this crime scene business.” Hardwick remained steadfast.

“Tell me right now, I want to know.” I wanted to know right now exactly what it was that she was thinking of going over now, that she hadn’t bothered to tell me about before.

“The voice in your head. I don’t think you’ve noticed, but you talk to yourself, all the time, my best guess is that you have a voice in there telling you all sorts of negative things. I was hoping it would fix itself as you got better, but you still talk back and wince whenever it speaks. You can’t deny it, either, I have seen it, as well as your brother _and_ John, so you can’t say it isn’t happening. Now I want to get rid of that voice before I set you free onto the world, and I’m sure you want rid of it, too, so I think it’s worth us going over that before you leave, don’t you?” _fuck._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anybody else getting ridiculously excited for Doctor Strange? I've been waiting two years for this film and I really don't know if I can wait another 6 months for it lol!  
> Just a quick update on the state of my uni work and such, I'm back at uni on Monday's for three weeks, which won't affect the update rota, and will be finishing my assignments off within the next two weeks. But during the first or second week of May, I'll let you know exact dates when I find out myself, I probably won't be able to update at all during the week. I've got to be in for the entire week, from 10 until 3, watching everyone's presentations, and doing my own. I have a serious phobia of public speaking, so I'm going to be a nervous wreck for basically the entire week, and exhausted thanks to the early starts/long travelling times, so I may not be able to update. I'll try, but I'm not promising anything right now.  
> Also, the week after that I'm going to be doing some major packing up in regards to my house, and then I think I'm moving that weekend. Now I'm already stressed over this move (Aspergers + changing house/routine/whole entire way of life is really, really not a good mix) so that week I'm going to be in one hell of a state. Again, I'll try my best to update, but it again may not happen. After I've moved, everything should hopefully go back to normal, but again, God knows what normal will be so I'll have to let you know on that one. *sighs* the joys of life right now.


	234. Chapter 234

233 Sherlock's POV                           

I couldn't even deny Hardwick’s claims, because they were completely true, I _could_ hear a voice in my head, I did talk back to it, and _fuck_ people had seen. I’d tried to be careful, but apparently I hadn’t been clever enough, fuck I was an idiot. _Well no shit, of course you are. You got caught over this, and you never usually get caught doing anything._

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of Sherlock, sometimes things like this can manifest, and we can find the cause of them, and then help you to get rid of them. It’s nothing to be ashamed of in the meantime.” Hardwick told me, like that helped.

I’d had this voice in my head for so long, I couldn't even remember when it had first appeared, I felt like it had always been there, and possibly it had been. I could remember when it had started to sound like John, though. _You missed him so much you decided that hearing his voice insulting you all day long was better than nothing. How bloody pathetic are you?_

“Can we not talk about this right now?” I groaned, I’d really rather put this whole thing off. I had a bloody voice in my head insulting me all day long, it wasn't something I wanted to admit to out loud.

“Of course, but I will get back round to it, it’s a serious thing that I’m not letting go of.” Hardwick warned, “Now what did you feel when you saw those crime scene photos for the first time?” that was better footing. At least for now, I could deal with that for the moment. _It’s something you failed at, remembering? I thought you hated admitting that you were wrong, or couldn't figure something out._

“The robbery was great, it fell in quite easy, to the point where I could say that the answer was practically screaming from the evidence. How Lestrade didn't see it I don’t know, but then again the police are always out of their depth...” I explained in detail exactly what I had seen in the robbery photos, how I put it all together and how everything had felt while I solved that case. The elation after finishing it was incredible, I hadn’t felt _that_ good in a very long while. To have that sort of feeling back, to have the boredom of living here start to lift... it was indescribable. I couldn't articulate how much it meant to solve a case again, John right by my side, telling me I was brilliant again. It had been so long, I’d almost forgotten what it felt like to do that.

“That’s great Sherlock, I’m so glad it worked out like that for you. But what about the other case, the murder? How did that feel when you looked at the photos, what happened when you tried to deduce what had gone on?” Hardwick pushed on, she couldn't let me have five minutes to talk about the better part of things could she? We had to go straight to the awful bit I wasn't keen on thinking about. _Don’t want to think about me, don’t want to think about cases, what do you want to think about?_

“Well it wasn't as fun, and I was slower on the uptake. I tried to deduce, but all I got was memories of stabbings I had committed, and when I had been stabbed myself.” I had been able to feel it, and hear the sound of the knife slicing through skin, had felt the blood. I’d barely managed to keep it together.

“That’s understandable, you haven’t been around anything like that in so long, it must have come as quite a shock.” Hardwick sympathised, at least she was sympathetic and not throwing this back in my face.

“It was. It’s been so long that I wasn't ready for the... the reality of it.” I repressed a shudder.

“I’ll get used to it all again, though, I just need a small amount of time to adjust.” I continued on, more to myself than anyone else.

“Of course, and I can help you, too. What helped you get past those memories and back to your deductions?” Hardwick pressed on, not even writing anything down, simply listening. I preferred it when she just listened, instead of scribbling down everything I said.

“John did. He, he asked simple questions and got the ball rolling. After that, it all sort of... _jumped_ at me.” I wasn't sure how to describe it, but once I’d gotten the spark going, I’d deduced the crime scene with ease and everything else had melted away until I had solved it. And then that elated feeling came back too, and I’d been fine after that. Shakey, but fine.

“Do deductions usually jump at you like that?” Hardwick questioned.

“Yes, all of it jumps out at me as I read the scene. It was exactly like it was usually, the only difference was the memories and John’s nudging.” Once things started making sense, it was like nothing had changed, and I had worked out the crime in seconds, just like I always had. I just had to get the ball rolling, that was all. Get the ball rolling and past the memories, then I would be perfectly fine from then on.  I was sure of it.

_As long as Lestrade trusts you to go back to solving crimes again, that is._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Officially finished my play (until I get sent back a load of corrections, but the main bits done) and now I only have one more assignment and a presentation to do then I'm done, so I can pack up my house, and then I can finally focus back on writing fic all the time again... hopefully lol!


	235. Chapter 235

234 Sherlock's POV

Hardwick ended up using an old therapy method to help me look through crime scenes again, having just remembered that we had put it there. It was the idea of using my sensory room music to calm me down, somehow we had forgotten about the switch in the foyer of my Mind Palace, and how well it had worked with my showering issues. But now that we had, we were going to use it to our advantage again.

So the idea was to switch the music from my sensory room on inside my head when I went near a crime scene. I had to switch it on at least five minutes before I looked, to make sure that I was as calm as could be before I was faced with whatever bloody mess of human bodies the criminal of the week had come up with this time. And it worked reasonably well, all things considered. I mean, I managed to calm myself down enough that I got to the deductions quicker, but I still had to go through some memories before I could get to that point. I was working on it, though, and I was getting there, which was the main thing.

Hardwick helped the best she could with it all, helping me to push the memories away, or turn them into deductions themselves. After what I’d gone through during my time away, I had a more extensive knowledge of wounds and weapons, so I could use that to my advantage. I could tell more about the weapons used against these victims from just looking at the wounds on show, and could use my own experiences to deduce what kind of weapon had been used, before forensics could get a look in.

I could also use my experiences to tell how an attack was carried out, when it was a crime scene like the stabbing one. In my mind’s eye, I could see how the assailant attacked the victims, what kind of actions they made, the only problem with that was that I was seeing myself committing these crimes. It was a pain, and a very stark reminder of what I had done in the past, but I got through it as best as I could. I’d done all of those terrible things to keep myself and my friends alive, I had been ordered to do them, and I should not feel that guilty over it.

Even Loki was of use in all of this, we took some time to train him in proper crime scene etiquette, so he knew how to follow me without wrecking evidence. And he was also trained to stand in the way of those he didn't already know, so he was a barrier between me and the forensics team who loved to taunt me. We didn't know that they would start being cruel again, but it was better to be safe than sorry on that front. Crime scenes wouldn’t be the most pleasant of places for a while; I didn't want the added distraction of abuse being hurled at me while I tried to work.

In the end, I got confident enough to invite Lestrade back to Mycroft’s again for another try with the case files, to see if I could solve another murder. I’d been working through a stream of break ins and other murder-less crimes recently to keep occupied while I wasn't in therapy sessions or with John, but the true test was in the murder scenes. That was where my problems lay, I had to get back on the horse and try again with my new coping techniques in place.

“Ready to try again?” Lestrade sat with me in the room serving as my front room, which was quite odd. I could see him observing it and making his own judgements about the fact that it was decorated like 221b. _He thinks you’re a freak for this place._

I wasn't answering the voice inside my head anymore, under Hardwick’s orders, so I ignored it. I cranked up the volume of my playlist instead.

“Of course, I wouldn’t have invited you down here if I wasn't.” _Oh, bit mean that._

“I guess not. Alright, I’ve got a tricky one for you. Murder of an old couple, they had no children or other relatives, nothing was stolen, yet every picture of the couple was smashed.” Lestrade handed over the file; John leant over to peruse the photos.

Immediately, I saw myself inside the house, sneaking around.

_The knife used wasn't one from the house, so I’d brought my own; I was wearing leather gloves to prevent my fingerprints being pressed to the handle. I snuck into the front room, standing behind the couple as they watched some daytime TV show. I was nervous, scared of what I was about to do, hesitant almost, but I had to do it. I went for the wife first, slitting her throat before turning to the husband, stabbing him through the side of the neck before he could do anything to stop me._

_Blood sprayed everywhere, over the ceilings and all over me, warm, sticky blood hitting me in the face and hands. The smell was enough to make me want to heave, let alone the look on the faces of the victims as they bled to death. It was quick, but I didn't leave straight away, I saw the photos on the mantelpiece and was filled with rage, so I smashed them all to pieces, tearing the photos apart in anger._

“Got anything Sherlock?” John asked, hand resting on my shoulder. Clair De Lune turned up in volume, not blaring, but loud enough to start calming the thoughts before my hands starting shaking again.

I raced to say what I’d already seen, explaining as fast as I could the series of events as they had unfolded in my mind. I had to get it out, get to the deductions, getting to the deductions meant the memories went away and I’d get to the best bit of solving cases, and I had to get to solving the case.

“The knife was new and sharp, but the wounds on the wife show hesitation marks, the husband was a more panicked kill, the photos were because of rage. Why, why would the killer hesitate on the wife and panic more with the husband? He was old and frail, no chance of the killer losing a fight with him...” there was a reason for the rage, for the smashed photos and the panic and hesitancy, but what, what was the issue?

“Well it’s not a disgruntled family member; Greg said that they didn't have any family.” John supplied... wait... was that a photo of a.... Clair De Lune stopped playing.

“They did have family; they gave a child up for adoption many years ago, probably because they were poor and couldn't afford to bring up a child in their conditions. The child found out about this and was enraged at being abandoned, probably was never adopted and so held resentment against the parents who abandoned them. They hesitated because these people were their biological parents, but they had so much rage against them that they felt like they had to kill them. The photos were an afterthought, brought on by rage at being abandoned. Look into adoption records, pull the files on who they gave up for adoption and that will give you your killer.” I could see it all, and it made sense. The hesitation because of sentiment but the rage got in the way, the pictures smashed out of anger that this couple had a happy life without their child; it was all there, right in front of me.

“Fantastic.” John commented, looking at me in wonder again.

“Jesus, this one has been causing us grief for months, and you solve it in five minutes.” Lestrade blew out a breath, scribbling down my explanation.

“All obvious if you know where to look.” I grinned, on a complete high. I’d solved a murder _without a panic attack,_ I’d seen myself commit the murders and yet I didn't panic. All because of my music in my head, I’d done it, bloody hell _I’d done it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm nearing the end of my assignment nightmare, yippee! I've got 6 days left before deadline day, then all I'm dealing with is a presentation, then I'm moving, and then I may finally be able to give my new fic some proper focus, instead of rushing out a few paragraphs whenever I get the chance!


	236. Chapter 236

235 John's POV

My God, Sherlock had managed to solve a cold case without having a panic attack. I’d been so sure he’d need calming down again, and would need me to really lead him through his deductions. I hadn’t expected him to be so... so... _relaxed_ about it. he’d been twitchy sure, and spaced for a few minutes as he stared at the photos, but he’d then just gone straight into deductions, exactly like he used to.

And now, here he was, sprawled out in his armchair, practically glowing with pride for himself. He really looked like Sherlock then, really, really looked like Sherlock. I could almost mistake him for the man from before the Fall, the only thing really stopping me was Loki, who was curled at his master’s feet. He had been watching closely, but now that Sherlock had relaxed he had too. Damn therapy was doing Sherlock some good.

“Go on then, explain how you came to that conclusion.” I was clueless on how he got to that explanation. I’d have said the photos were broken while trying to find something, but then again I was rustier than Sherlock was at this, and considerably less experienced.

“It was in the hesitation marks on the first victim...” Sherlock explained it all in detail, telling us exactly how he got to the conclusion about the adoption.

“Incredible.” I was still amazed by his deduction skills, even after all this time. Maybe because of all the time that had past, Sherlock hadn’t mixed with cases for so long, and here he was, deducing crimes inside out just from photos. I could only hope it would continue over into actual crime scenes, and the morgue. Fuck, the morgue was at Bart’s, would that still be an issue? Last time that had been a huge issue, but Sherlock had done so well recently, maybe he’d fine... no, that was wishful thinking, I didn't have a clue on how he was going to react to Bart’s. _Shit._

“You’re thinking about something.” Greg commented as we left that evening, after another afternoon spent chatting, and having a pleasant walk around the grounds with Loki.

“Yeah, about the morgue... he didn't... Sherlock didn't do so well around Bart’s last time we went. And he’ll need to go back to the morgue and Bart’s lab at some point, so while he’s doing well now, I don’t know how he’ll react to that.” I bit my lip, really not sure what to think about this.

“Ah, I get you. Well he didn't have Loki then, did he?” Greg asked.

“No, he didn't. The dog should help, but it won’t solve the entire problem, which is where this gets difficult.” I sighed, couldn't I just have _one day_ where I could be simply happy that Sherlock was getting better? Where I didn't have to go ‘yay, he’s better at this, but now we have to figure out _that_?’ I really would have preferred to revel in the successful crime solving for a day.

“Well, cross that bridge when it comes I guess.” Greg answered, “He did well today though.”

“That he did, I wasn't expecting that good a reaction from him.” I jumped on the subject change gladly.

“Neither did I. I was expecting far worse than that.” Greg fiddled with the files; he’d only brought the one today, but was taking back another six, thanks to Sherlock solving the robberies and other crimes during the week.

“Far worse.” I nodded, “Greg, if Sherlock can’t go to the morgue, or face actual dead bodies again for some reason, you won’t hold that against him, or stop him from solving crimes completely, would you?” I hoped not, Sherlock only had his cases to keep him occupied, he was nothing without them.

“Of course not! I’d never hold something like that against him! Or take the cases away from him entirely, I’d find a way around his issues and continue consulting him. He’d go insane,” we winced at the poor wording, “without any sort of case to keep him busy.”

“Good, I just... he _needs_ these cases, and he’s so excited at solving them. I haven’t seen Sherlock look so alive in a long time, and I don’t want that taken from him, not after all this hard work that he’s put in.” I really didn't want to see that spark go from Sherlock’s eyes again, he _needed_ these cases, and he needed them in any capacity he could have them in. Even if he never stepped foot on another crime scene again, he _needed_ the cases to give him something to do, even if he only ever solved them from photos.

“I’d _never_ take them away from him, I’ve seen him when he’s been completely deprived of any stimulation for months, I’d never purposefully do that to him. I’ll do my best to make sure he’s always got cases, and to never judge him for his needs.” Greg promised, and he meant it, I could tell by his tone alone.

“Thanks, he’ll appreciate it.” I smiled at him.

“I know he will, besides, he would make my life a living hell if I even dared to keep his distractions from him.” Greg made me laugh a bit.

“Probably by screeching his violin in your office and training Loki to growl at you any time you’re in the vicinity.” I played along, it sounded ridiculous, but it was better than worrying about morgues.

“And breaking into my office and solving all my cases anyway.” Greg and I laughed for a few seconds, before quietening down, “Pub?” he offered.

“Sure.” I could have done with a drink; this worry wasn't doing me any good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments and the kudos! Nearly there assignment wise, just have the analysis to do by Monday, then the presentation in three weeks time!


	237. Chapter 237

236 Sherlock's POV

After several more murders got solved by file alone, Hardwick decided that it was time for me to start going out into the field more. Oh she didn't mean crime scenes, hell no, she meant the morgue. _At Bart’s._ As in the very same morgue I had been taken to after I ‘died,’ the one I hadn’t stepped foot in since I had fallen off the building’s roof. Fucking _hell_ this woman was insane.

“Sherlock, you can’t avoid Bart’s forever, it’s where you do half of your experiments, where you interact with Molly, and most importantly, where you examine victims more closely, without the police distracting you. It’s a very important part of your life, so you have to go back to it at some point.” Hardwick sighed, she was right, but I still didn't like this. _Of course not, who wants to walk back into the building that screwed your life up? It’s like doing something just to cause a panic attack and several step backs... actually, that is exactly what this is._

“You’re killing me here.” _Worse words could not have been spoken._

“It’s all a vital part of getting better, I promise.” Hardwick wasn't being very convincing, “How about this, you make a day of it. Go down to the morgue and see Molly, then go upstairs to the labs and play with some of the equipment. You’re running out of chemicals to play with here, but Bart’s has tonnes, and they also have new toys to play with.”

“Lab equipment aren’t toys.” I told her, I may have played with them in the past, but they weren’t toys. The same way a violin wasn't a toy, I played that, but that didn't make it a toy.

“Sorry, wrong use of word. But the point still stands, they have new equipment, and if you wish, you can use that as a reward for getting to the morgue. Or better yet, you can use the equipment to help Molly find the cause of death of one of the bodies down there. If she doesn’t have anything interesting, I’ve heard she’s keeping back some gangrenous toes for you.” Hardwick looked slightly queasy at the idea of the toes.

“Of all the things I’ve told you and shown you, and _that_ makes you queasy?” I raised an eyebrow; I was starting to think she had a steel stomach, perhaps not.

“I’ve been trained to not be affected by the dead, but lopped off limbs and appendages still turn my stomach.” Hardwick answered, “Anyway, don’t change the subject. What do you say to going down to Bart’s? You can’t avoid it forever; you’ll always have to come back to it at some point.”

“Fine, if you insist.” I gave in, _you’re fucked. Monumentally._

“I do. But it has to be done.” Hardwick at least looked apologetic.

“I liked you better when you were pressing me about hearing voices.” I commented, because honestly, that was much better to talk about than this.

“Thought you might, but don’t worry about that, I’ll get round to that, too. How’s the ignoring technique going?” Hardwick asked.

“Still there. Still chattering away.” Ignoring it was doing absolutely nothing right now. _I’m never going away you know, I’m going to be here, commenting on everything forever._

“Are you ignoring it?” Hardwick asked, like she didn't _know_ that I was.

“Yes I am, and it’s not exactly working.” I could still hear the damn voice, it wasn't going anywhere at the moment.

“I’ll work on that. For now, what’s your main worries about Bart’s?” Hardwick switched topic again, great, she was going to make me _talk_ about this as well as experience it. Bloody slave driver.

It was decided that again, John would be taking the trip with me to Bart’s. Lestrade offered to come along, but I decided against that, because I would have rathered him to see me at my best, not while I was shaky and scared and on the verge of having a complete meltdown. He’d seen two already, if I could avoid it, I would have liked for him to never see me at anything but my best for the rest of time. Whether or not that happened was another matter...

Anyway, John was coming with me to Bart’s, as was Loki (obviously). Molly was meeting us there and we were taking the back entrance, instead of going through the A&E department, to avoid any unnecessary stimulation. I was going to be so stressed that day, the last thing I needed was to walk through a crowded accident and emergency, and being forced to deduce every bloody person there, facing unknown quantities of blood and other serious injury. It was best if I avoided it all together, as well as the paramedics and other such doctors.

From there, we would efficiently get to the morgue, I’d look over a body or two, probably expose myself to a lot more memories than I had planned on, having a major panic attack, and then get taken home. Well, that was my realistic plan, Hardwick seemed to think I’d manage this just fine, but she was being optimistic and encouraging because she had to be as my therapist.

She thought that I’d only see a body or two, get back into the swing of crime solving from actual bodies, and then go upstairs to run some tests to prove some theories. In my opinion, she was actually nuts for thinking that, but I wasn't going to say anything to her about it, because then she would force me to talk more about why I felt like she was nuts. And the answer to that was obvious, and I _hated_ stating the obvious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments and the kudos, nearly there with the assignments now! Just have to make corrections to one, upload it along with another one, then I get a week off, then I'm into presentation mode, then moving mode, and hopefully by the end of May I can relax lol!


	238. Chapter 238

237 Sherlock's POV                                                             

The usual cycle went round again, date for trip was set, Hardwick talked about it _endlessly_ in therapy until I got the point where I was seconds off screaming at her to fuck off, and dread built up inside me until suddenly we were at the day of the trip and I was ready for all hell to break loose. How bloody _fantastic,_ I’d be glad when all this was over at last, so I could get on with what I wanted to do. And right now, what I wanted to do was curl up on the sofa back at Baker Street and have a nice long thinking session about something other than the past/the next inevitable breakdown/worrying about whether I was going to get my life back or not.

Currently, that wasn't happening; instead, I ended up in the back seat of one of Mycroft’s cars, Loki at my feet, John at my side, approaching London at a steady pace.

“Excited?” John asked, he somehow looked positive in all this. _Proving once again that he’s the complete opposite of you._

“What do you think?” I snapped back, I _was not_ talking about this right now. Really, I wasn't even going to bother pretending that I was excited for this, not like I had with seeing the case files. This was a different ball game. This was _Bart’s,_ ground zero for where the shit hit the fan.

Well, if I were being pedantic, ground zero was actually Mycroft’s office, where we planned out my faked death. But Bart’s was where the action took place, and I wasn't exactly looking forward to going back and facing it again. _Especially after last time._

“No need to bite my head off.” John answered sarcastically, “Have you put the music on in your head?” he continued, pulling a face that said that he wasn't sure if he had gotten that right or not.

“ _Yes,_ it’s on.” I’d had music playing since I woke up, I didn't need to be reminded of my coping methods, I was still a bloody genius. _Well someone is tetchy this morning. I thought that there was a resolution somewhere in your brain to be nicer._

Loki decided to jump into my lap at that moment, pushing his head into my hands until I rubbed at his ears. We’d had to put a coat on him today, as he was going to a public building. It was a deep green colour, with the words ‘do not pet’ and ‘I’m working’ on each side. I didn't like it, but apparently it was obligatory, otherwise Loki wouldn’t be allowed into the morgue, or Scotland Yard, or anywhere like that actually. We might as well have but a giant neon sign above my bloody head.

“You have to admit, the coat colour does suit him.” John commented, straightening the green thing.

“I would have preferred black. Or nothing at all.” Green was weird, but it did suit his collar.

“We’ve been over this Sherlock; he has to wear it outside. At the flat and places like that it’s fine, but outside he has to have it on, so you don’t get separated.” John sighed, he’d been a part of the arguments a few times now, so he was used to it.

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it.” I grumbled, flattening the fur I could get to.

“Well no, it doesn’t. We could see if we can find one that matches your coat or something later if you want. This was just the only one Charlotte had, so we had to make do.” John suggested.

“Who’s Charlotte?” I was sure we didn't know anybody called Charlotte.

“Hardwick, her first name is Charlotte.” John sighed again, this time a bit more fondly.

“Her first name is Doctor.” I made him smile with that.

“I’m sure she would love to hear you say that.” John teased, nudging me in the arm gently.

“She’s heard far worse from me.” I shrugged it off, waving a hand nonchalantly.

“I don’t doubt that.” John agreed, as the car parked up outside Bart’s. Fuck that was a quick journey, was that supposed to be that quick?!

Molly was waiting outside; she looked quite excited, and a bit nervous, too. It just made me feel more scared as I looked at her, what was she even scared about?! _You attacking her again, you having a complete meltdown outside the building again. She’s basically standing where you died after all, and she bloody knows it._ Fuck, fuck, _fuck._

“Hey, it’s alright. It’s just Bart’s, and while bad things have happened here, they’re not going to happen again.” John's hand slipped into my own, a gentle smile on his face.

“How... How are you so calm? I, I... I fell here.” I didn't understand, he was so calm, how could he be so damn calm in this?!

“Because I know that you’re alive now.” John answered, that wasn't a bloody answer!

“Alright, it hurts like a bitch knowing what has happened before, but, I know now that it was unavoidable, and that it wasn't real. You’re living proof that you _survived_ this; it’s all just memories, now. And memories can’t hurt us.” John explained, squeezing my hand harder.

“I can’t do this. I, I can’t do this.” I couldn't do this, this was too much, I couldn't do this!

“You can Sherlock; I promise you that you can. We’re just going inside a building and examining some bodies, just like we used to. This never used to be a problem, and it shouldn’t be now either, because you’ve made through the other side of that ordeal. You’re safe, and you never have to jump again, or face Moriarty, or worry about snipers. You’re _safe,_ and so am I. Bart’s is just a building now.” John couldn't... but he watched me _die_ out there!

I could remember the pain in his voice, the agony on his face. I could remember him holding onto my wrist to check for a pulse as fake blood dripped down my face. I could remember all of it, and it had all happened _just outside this car._ Right where Molly was standing!

“I... You watched me die out there.” I whispered, Loki’s licks to my face barely registering.

“I know I did, but I know that you’re alive now, don’t I? You’re right in front of me, and you told me why you did it, and I’m okay now, genuinely. What’s done is done, it’s all in the past, let’s not let it affect our future too.” John tugged gently, pulling me out of the car.

_Fuck_ I wasn't ready, I wasn't ready at all!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All my assignments apart from my presentation are officially done! Horray!  
> But a quick warning, there may not be a new update on Thursday, because 1) the new Captain America movie is out, so I'm watching a triple bill of all the Cap movies at the cinema, and on the same day there's a presale for the first McFly tour since September 2013. If I can borrow someone's o2 sim card so I can get into o2 priority, I'm going to be desperately trying to get tickets because these boys mean the absolute world to me, and they're playing all 5 of their albums over 3 nights and I want to go to them all! I'm desperate for the tickets, and I'm the one buying them, so I'm going to be stressed as hell/in a ball of emotions all day! I'll try my best, but it'll depend on how well I do in the presale if I get the o2 priority thing, and how I'm feeling in the hours leading up to Civil War!


	239. Chapter 239

238 Sherlock's POV

“Sherlock! Hello, I, we... are you okay, you look sick.” Molly greeted us as we got out the car.

“Fine, just get me inside.” I refused to look anywhere but at her, because there was no way I was looking at the ambulance shelter, the road behind it, or the roof. Nope. Not doing it, wasn't going to look anywhere near it at all. That would be insane looking at that, absolutely insane, and would end in disaster.

“Yeah, let’s get inside first, then we can catch up.” John nudged Molly so she’d lead the way, all of us rushing to get inside and out of the way of the pavement I had technically died on. _You ruined everyone’s life when you jumped. They thought you were DEAD, they all thought you were dead!_

Loki stayed close as we moved, expertly keeping pace with me without the use of a lead. With every step I took, he brushed against my leg, making sure that I knew that he was still there, never leaving my side. It was vaguely reassuring, but wasn't doing much good with slowing this panic down.

As soon as we got inside the hospital, I was hit with a wall of sensations. The hospital lights stabbed into my eyes, the collective noises of those bloody lights, the squeaking shoes, the machine beeps and everybody talking rumbling together to create a chainsaw effect in my head.

I grit my teeth, Jesus hospitals were such a bloody sensory nightmare. How did I used to manage being here all the damn time?! _By being in control of your own mind, that’s how._

Fuck my head hurt, everything was screaming at me, deductions jumping out everywhere.

**Doctor having affair with the nurse. The nurse in question is also sleeping with the janitor. That surgeon is stealing drugs and selling them out of greed for more money. Lab assistant is planning on quitting.**

It was everywhere, nowhere felt safe from it. Even staring at the floor wasn't helping, I could read so much from everybody’s shoes, exactly where everybody had been and what pay grade they were at thanks to the state of their clothes.

My brain felt ready to explode, but I refused to back down. I had done this before, on our other recent trips out in London. I’d gone to Angelo’s and everything and been fine! But hospitals were so much worse; the places were so damn full of people and information. I needed to get out of this place, away from the noise before I ended up screaming.

Everything was in overdrive, I was in agony, I couldn't even _breathe_ properly as I was lead to the morgue. And even when we got inside there, my chest tightened, knowing that there were _bodies_ in here. _Dead bodies,_ real ones, not the ones I’d seen at crime scenes.

_Dead bodies with stab wounds and gun shots and strangulations, just like the ones you caused! You caused all those wounds and more to so many people and looking at these bodies will bring it all rushing back!_

“Hey, you alright there? You’re looking a little faint.” John asked, moving to stroke my arm.

“Fine.” I said through gritted teeth, leaning against the door.

“You sure?” John raised an eyebrow.                        

“Yes, fine.” I just needed a minute, to readjust. Wouldn’t be too long, I just needed to calm down a minute, get past the fact that I was a bit overwhelmed right now.

I took several deep breaths, stroked Loki’s fur and pulled myself together.

“What have you got for us Molly?” I pushed off the wall to stand on my own two feet, because I was _fine,_ and I was going to be fine for the rest of this. This was an utterly normal day at the morgue, there was nothing to be scared about, and nothing to be overwhelmed by. I used to practically live in the labs and the morgue, coming back should have been no different. It was all just a case of getting used to it again, that was all. _And making sure everybody doesn’t think you’re fucking crazy. You’ve done enough to make them think that in the past, let’s not make it worse._

“Oh, well I’ve got... there’s not much in the way of really interesting things. But I do have one woman who at sixty apparently died of natural causes, but that’s a bit young for natural causes like that. So I thought maybe you would like to have a look and see what you think. Is, is that alright? That was the sort of thing you were looking for, wasn't it?” Molly chewed on her lip, fiddling with her shirt sleeves.

“That’s exactly the kind of thing; need some help getting the body on the slab?” John smiled.

“Thanks, but I already got her out, she’s over here.” Molly led us over to the slab, the body covered in the typical white sheet.

_John once thought that Molly was doing an autopsy on you on one of these slabs. He imagined you covered by the sheet; head smashed in, her cutting you open, inspecting all your organs. He thought you were **dead**_.

Loki started butting his head against my leg, I pushed a hand through his fur again, continuously stroking his head as Molly took hold of the sheet, pulling it back.

“What tests have you run so far?” I asked, the body looked like the woman wasn’t dead. She looked like she was sleeping, just a whole lot paler. I wasn't used to seeing bodies not smothered in blood, or looking peaceful for that matter. I couldn't tell if this was better or worse.

_Do you think John’s thinking of how you looked when you were out on that pavement? How the blood ran down your face, how it felt like your pulse had stopped?_

“Well I’ve only just gotten the samples back, so I thought that you would like to have a go with the tests.” Molly indicated the vials in the fridge, “I didn't want to run a test pointlessly either, if you saw something on the body.”

“Fair enough, see anything Sherlock?” John asked, hand subtly reaching out for my own.

**Peaceful while they died, no fear so they either trusted their attacker or didn't know it was happening. No signs of injection sites, or at least not obvious ones.**

I checked under the armpits and between the toes, finding nothing too obvious. Then the stomach, in case she had been diabetic, no such signs.

“Poison or something may have been ingested; we will need to test her blood and stomach contents.” I concluded, so far so good.

John squeezed my arm and smiled in encouragement.

“Good job I took samples already. So, fancy having a go with our equipment?” Molly grinned, holding all of the samples out to me.

“Well, might as well flex those muscles again, it’s been a while.” Now that I was here, I _wanted_ to get back into the tests, and back to being a detective. I’d been running out of experiments, my fingers were itching for a good old fashioned blood analysis, using it all to solve a mystery.

Maybe I could just have a go, find my feet again. It could be fun...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I managed to get my McFly tickets, ahhhhh! All three London shows too, so I'll be hearing all 65 of their album recorded songs! I'm so happy! :D


	240. Chapter 240

239 Sherlock's POV

It was another rush to get to the lab, pushing out every sense I possibly could to get to the lab in peace. God how did I survive in the past? Honestly, how the hell did I survive this place? _Mental preparation and being distracted by a case generally._ It hurt, bloody hell it hurt. And turning on my music wasn't going to help here; it would be one more thing in the cacophony of sounds already banging around in my brain.

Thankfully the lab we chose was empty, and so silent, when we got there. According to Molly, she had booked it out for us for the day, so nobody was going to come in and ruin things. Thank God for that.

I got straight on with running tests, looking at the blood under a microscope, while also sending a sample through the Mass Spectrometer, and making the most of some of the other equipment in here. Within half an hour I had three machines running the various samples, while I planted myself in front of the microscope, examining as much as I could. It felt... _good,_ to be doing this right now, to be given the chance to examine samples and use all the equipment in the lab, ruling out various causes of death and poisons along the way. It was another one of those moments where I felt near-normal, because I was in the lab, solving a potential murder, John and Molly by my side.

The two of them were chatting between themselves while Molly caught up on paperwork, yet it still felt normal. Generally I wasn't even sure what the two of them did while I was running tests, so this could have been a completely normal occurrence for them, it certainly felt normal to me. And it felt _right,_ like reality had knocked itself just that little bit more back to where it used to be. I could handle this, and more importantly, I could get _used_ to this. Getting to and from the morgue and the lab aside, I could get used to this.

_And how exactly are you going to deal with getting around the hospital? And arriving at the hospital itself, remembering jumping from that building and shattering John’s heart at the same time?_

Ignore it. Ignore it all. I’d readjust, I was doing well so far, and I’d learnt to adjust to a lot recently. Soon it would stop hurting and I’d be used to it all again. Just like it had taken me a few goes getting used to the crowds of London, and used to showering, and everything else. It was all a case of readjustment; I’d be fine with a few more runs.

In the end, it was the Mass Spectrometer that gave us the cause of death.

“Oh, it was a heart attack, caused by too many fatty foods.” That was slightly disappointing really. _You’re disappointed in a heart attack, you psychopath._

“At least it wasn't a murder, Greg’s got enough on his plate without something else to solve.” Molly scribbled down the findings on her file.

“Less brain work for me though.” I sighed, I had been half hoping for something big to solve, so I had something to think about for a while. When I wasn't getting worried for whatever Hardwick had planned for me next, I was _bored._ Case files about burglary only helped so far, and right now it was getting exceedingly boring to be stuck at Mycroft’s. A nice murder would have gone a long way right now.

“Ah, maybe next time, you can’t win them all.” John smiled at me, with just a bit of wonder on his face.

“Maybe not, but I’m not exactly fond of being bored.” I really wasn't, my brain had far too little to focus on at Mycroft’s, I needed stimulation, stimulation that didn't involve worrying about whatever else I was going to put through, or trying to teach Loki new tricks to annoy Mycroft.

“I’ll keep an eye out for interesting cases then; maybe you can come down again when there’s been a real murder.” Molly piped up.

“That would be good... thanks.” Maybe an unexpected trip to the morgue wouldn’t be too bad... I used to do it, and it was good practice... and it would mean that I wasn't _bored._

“Great, I’ll let you know the minute something interesting comes up!” Molly grinned as well, her and John looked far too pleased with themselves right now, it was weird. Especially when I had no idea _why_ they were so damn pleased. Was it because of me? That was likely, but bloody hell, I’d only hung around in a lab all damn day, nothing to be so pleased about!

“That’ll be wonderful Molly. But I think it’s time that we make a move. We’ve been here for five hours already, and it’s going to take a while to get home.” John sighed, if I was honest, I was slightly disappointed at the idea of leaving.

“Yes, wouldn’t want to miss _dinner_ would we?” I replied sarcastically, even if the routine was good for me, it was getting predictable. So very, very predictable. I was starting to be able to guess exactly what each meal would consist of at this point, even though there wasn't a definitive pattern to the chef’s menu. Tonight was going to be some sort of fish dish, with a selection of vegetables and other such healthy matter. Thanks to Mycroft’s fifth failed diet this year alone.

“No, we wouldn’t. You may have caught up to your original weight, but you’re not getting out of eating.” John made me roll my eyes, Molly giggled at the two of us.

“If you say so.” just wait until I got back to Baker Street, this whole routine business was going straight out the window.

“I do, now shall we make a move? I’m sure Molly has a lot of work to be getting on with, instead of watching us argue.” John sent a small smile to Molly.

“Oh it’s fine. I like it. Well, I don’t _like_ it, I just... it’s good, to see you... it’s nice to see you two back to how you were.” Molly went red in the face.

“Well you’ll soon be seeing a lot more of this one I’m sure, once he’s back at Baker Street you won’t be able to get rid of him.” John laughed, nudging me playfully.

“I wasn't round _that_ often.” I wasn't, honestly!

“Sherlock, I caught you sleeping in here at least once a month.” Molly answered.

“Cases sometimes go on long enough that I actually start to need sleep.” I defended myself; honestly, they were making it sound like I had pitched a tent in here or something.

“If that’s the excuse you’re going with.” John nudged me again, “Anyway, it’s been lovely to see you again Molly. And thanks for letting us take over for a day, it means a lot.” John hugged her, receiving a hug back.

“My pleasure, it’s been very boring without you two running in and out of here at all hours.” Molly smiled.

“We’ll be back soon.” I was sure of it, I’d managed this time reasonably well, I was going to continue with it.

“I’ll look forward to it.” Molly fiddled with her hair awkwardly; I didn't know how to reply. Should I hug her too? I wasn't... I generally didn't _hug_ Molly, I didn't with Lestrade either... but should I make an exception for the day?

John nudged me, nodding his head towards her, without her notice.

“Erm... thank you, Molly, for letting us in today. It was... good.” I kissed her cheek gently instead, I’d done that a few times before, that wasn't completely out of the realms of normality. It was in this situation, but usually it was fine.

“Any-Anything to help Sherlock, just as always.” Molly blushed an even brighter red, awkwardly showing us out, where we got into the car and drove off.

All in all, that hadn’t been a too bad a day...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :O We're very nearly at the end of this fic! Not sure I'm ready to let this one go!


	241. Chapter 241

240 Sherlock's POV                          

We built and built on that experience at the hospital, going back several more times, working more with the bodies and the labs, going through the busy corridors and such like. It helped a lot if I was honest, it gave me a chance to really get used to the sensory nightmare that was St Bart’s, so I could learn to block it all out and continue on like I used to. It worked, and in the end the feeling of my head being cut in half with a chainsaw faded into a low, manageable grumble I could shove to the back of my mind.

I still got a bit panicky outside the building, remembering the Fall vividly in my mind, but with John by my side, I got through. He ended up holding onto my hand or my arm when it got too much, or reminding me that everybody was still alive, that I had made it too. It helped a lot, and I think it helped him, too. I caught him checking my pulse several times while standing on that pavement, and while I never mentioned it, I suspected he was checking to make sure that I was still alive as well.

Soon, I was managing to consult on a few cases, purely through case files and morgue trips, and between the files and the body examination, I was solving a lot of crimes again. It was invigorating to manage it, to look at those case files, examine those bodies, and set about solving a case. Even though the chases through London still weren’t happening, I was still getting that puzzle, still working through the distractions. And it was _Heaven,_ I couldn't quite describe how bloody _good_ it was to go down to the morgue and solve a case. I hadn’t realised just how bloody good it felt to do it, or how much I missed it, until I did it. There had been that ache in my chest to get back to this, but to _actually_ be back, oh words couldn't describe it. It felt like I was back on form, ready for the world to come at me, ready to get back to my life.

Which was why it was immensely frustrating to still be stuck at Mycroft’s, having bloody therapy every day. it felt like even though I was making progress and feeling like _myself_ again, I was forced to be reminded that I still ‘wasn't ready’ that I still ‘needed time.’ well how much more bloody time did I need?! It had been so bloody long I was losing track! I wanted to go home already, why wasn't I allowed home?!

_Because you’re not stable. You’ll never be normal you know, sometimes it’s best to keep the abnormal people away from the world._

“I will send you home soon enough Sherlock, I promise. I’m just trying to make sure you’re emotionally ready for it.” Hardwick answered, that was _crap._

“I am emotionally ready for it! Can’t you tell that I’m _bored out of my skull_ here?! I want to go home!” I wanted to go home, more than anything I wanted to go home.

“But how is going home going to help with the boredom?” Hardwick asked.

“I’ll have more people to talk to.” That was a weak excuse; this house was full of people. Baker Street only had John and Mrs Hudson.

“No you won’t. And you won’t have more equipment to do experiments with either. I haven’t cleared you for field work yet so that won’t be keeping you busy as well, so really, what is it that being at home will help with all this boredom?” Hardwick raised an eyebrow.

“I... It’ll... I don’t know! It just will, okay?” I couldn't explain it, it just would! Home was good, home was where I wanted to be, if I went there I’d be normal and bloody hell I wanted to be normal again. _Too late for that, normal passed a long time ago._

“Sherlock, I understand that you’re anxious to go home and that you miss it a lot, I truly do, but I think that you need to stay, just for a while longer, so I can make sure that you’re better. Once I’m sure, I’ll let you go back to your home.” Hardwick gave me a sincere look.

“You better.” I glared at her; there would be _hell_ to pay if she didn't. _Well she’s not sending you home because you’re still a bloody sociopath, so get ready to pay hell._

“I will. You can hold me to it.” Hardwick smiled, there were no traces of her lying.

“I will.” She could be sure of that, “So what is so bloody important that I can’t leave here yet?” best to just get the hell on with it so I could get home.

“I see you have been following my instructions on ignoring that voice in your head,” I’d been dreading this one, “But you’re still hearing it, aren’t you?”

“Possibly.” I had no chance of getting out of this one, didn't mean I was going to be completely forthcoming with my answers.

“I thought so; you still wince when you hear it.” I thought I had gotten rid of that, “So tell me about it, what kind of things does it tell you, what does it sound like?”

“It just says... stuff, in response to what’s going on around me.” _my God, you’re actually going to admit to this. All aboard the train to the psych ward, normal people **don’t** hear voices. _

“Negative stuff, I’m guessing.” Hardwick made me nod, “Did it just say that you were nuts for hearing voices by any chance?”

“Something along those lines, yes.” I sighed, hating admitting to this. I had had this voice for so long, it felt like it was just my normal life now. I heard John’s voice in my head, it used to be Mycroft’s, always telling me that I wasn't good enough, that I was a psychopath, a million and one other things. It was just normal for me, now.

“Okay, does it sound like you’re own voice?” Hardwick asked, I shook my head, “Does it have a particular voice?”

“It’s... It’s John’s voice.” I whispered, I hadn’t told anybody that out loud. _It sounds bloody pathetic._

“Oh... that I wasn't expecting...” Hardwick was quiet for a bit, “Has it always been John’s voice?”

“No it, it used to be Mycroft’s. Then it changed...” was I going to admit to this bit, too? Admit that I’d been hearing this for most of my life?

“It changed after I fell from Bart’s.” Yes, yes I was going to admit to it, even though it made my skin crawl to think that I had just admitted to that. I’d actually just admitted to hearing a voice inside my head for a very long time.

Hardwick was going to think I was _mental._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments and the kudos, there's only 10 chapters left of this to go! I can't believe it!


	242. Chapter 242

241 Sherlock's POV

“The voice changed from Mycroft’s to John’s after you fell from Bart’s?” Hardwick leant forward, looking very intrigued all of a sudden.

“Er, yeah, yeah it did.” I chewed on my lip as I admitted it, Loki’s fur slipping through my fingers. _She thinks you’re bloody mental now; you’re going to a psych ward because you’re CRAZY._

“Okay, any ideas why?” Hardwick asked.

“I... Probably because I missed John, he was... he was a big part of my life and, and I missed him. A lot.” I answered, I wasn't really sure, I hadn’t been sure exactly _when_ the voice changed. It felt like one day I had Mycroft chatting away in my head, the next it was John. The tone hadn’t changed, neither had the things that had been said to me, it just... changed voice.

“Okay, that doesn’t explain why you’re hearing such negative things all the time... has the voice been negative all the time?” Hardwick scribbled down some more notes.

“Yeah, for as long as I remember.” I really couldn't remember a time where I either didn't have a voice in my head, or when it said nice things.

“Wow, and you never told anybody about this before?” Hardwick gave me a look that clearly said she couldn't believe that.

“When you grow up with everybody thinking you’re a freak and a psychopath, you don’t exactly make a habit of telling people things, especially when it’s stuff like _hearing voices._ ” I glared at her, seriously, did she think, after all of this, that I’d actually _talk_ to someone? Especially after all the shit I’d been through, and she thought I’d actually _tell_ someone when things like this happened to me?!

“I thought not, did you research into what was happening?” well at least she didn't look shocked at that. If she thought that I would have talked about this, I would have seriously wondered if she had listened to a word I had said.

“Of course I did, and I got nothing. Everything I could come up with had other symptoms that I didn't have. So I chalked it up to side effect of shooting up cocaine for years.” I shrugged, I hadn’t had any other reasons, and it was a possible side effect from extended drug use. The symptoms went together with my history, therefore that had to have been the answer.

“Well that could be an explanation; did it come about after you started doing cocaine?” Hardwick asked.

“Obviously.” Stupid question, incredibly stupid question.

“Alright, well that sounds like a reasonable explanation, I’ll do some further exploring if you don’t mind... do you regret doing drugs at all?” that was a slightly tougher one...

“Not particularly no. It relieved boredom brilliantly, and helped me forget my own issues.” I didn't necessarily regret any of my drug use, even with the effects they had on me.

“Any you would like to talk about?” Hardwick questioned. _Oh the things you could admit to here._

“Not particularly.” I wasn't about to start talking about past problems stemmed from low self esteem and being hated by every single person I encountered. I wanted _out_ of here, not to stay for another six bloody months. _Too bad that you’re fucking mental, you’re not getting out anyway._

“Sure about that?” Hardwick pushed.

“Very.” I wasn't going to talk about it; she could fuck right off in that respect.

“As you wish. So you don’t even regret damaging your brain, so you now have a voice inside your head, talking to you all the time?” She looked genuinely confused by this.

“It was an inconvenience yes, but I got used to it quickly enough. I couldn't change it, and it didn't affect my life that much, I could still deduce and solve crime, still experiment. My intelligence hadn’t changed; I just had a second Mycroft, which was easily ignored.” I shrugged again; I learnt to deal with it. To be perfectly honest, it had been annoying at first, and I had been annoyed with my brain for malfunctioning, but in the end I got used to it. It was my fault for taking drugs, but I still didn't regret it, because I had needed those drugs. I accepted the consequences, especially when the consequences weren’t even that bad.

A voice was nothing, easily ignored or filtered, like the rest of my deductions.

“A second Mycroft?” Hardwick raised an eyebrow.

“Yes a second Mycroft.” Why were we repeating this exactly? Repetition was pointless.

“What do you mean by that, I’m not sure I follow.” Really, she had spoken to my brother many times, didn't she get why exactly it was like having another one in my head?

“Mycroft was a rubbish big brother who constantly put me down and made me think I was stupid, the voice says the same things, therefore, it’s like a second Mycroft. You’ve spoken to him, don’t you get that?” really, it wasn't that hard to see it. Just because my brother was trying to be nice right now, didn't mean it wasn't obvious that he could be very cruel when he wanted to be. _He does it because he hates you, you know. He’s always hated you, he wanted a carbon copy of himself for a brother, instead he got **you.**_

“Ah, I understand. But John has only ever been kind to you, why do you think he’s being nasty in your head?” Hardwick had a point.

Thinking about it, it wasn't hard to figure out exactly why John had taken residence in my head.

“The day I fell... the last thing he said to me face to face... he called me a machine. He was so angry because of what I said to him, but I’d only been trying to get him away from Bart’s so the plan could go ahead... he called me a machine.” It still hurt to think about now, I’d always prided myself on my computer-like brain, on stamping down my emotions. But when it was thrown back in my face by John, it hurt more than I had thought it would.

“Ah, and then you appeared to die right in front of him, severing contact for several years... John is the person you’re closest to in the world, isn’t he?” Hardwick asked, I nodded, “I think, from what you’ve told me, John’s voice took over from Mycroft’s because of your fall. It was a traumatic experience for you both, and it severed the contact between the two of you, you could almost describe it almost like John had died.” Did she have to describe it like that? God just the _thought_ of John getting killed, especially when talking about this specific situation, made me feel incredibly ill.

“Don’t describe it like that.” Loki licked at my hand as I said it, I started stroking his fur.

“I apologise, but it is necessary for the moment. But as I was saying, there are cases of people hearing loved ones voices after they died, and considering you were already hearing your brother’s voice, your brain decided to transfer it to John instead, because of how much you missed him, and because of what he said to you. It was your way of clinging onto John while you couldn't be together.” Hardwick explained, that did make sense, I had to admit.

“So how do we get rid of it then?” I didn't want this here anymore; I didn't want to hear this voice chattering away in my head constantly. I wanted it _gone._

“Well, that’s going to be a bit more difficult.” Hardwick answered... I didn't like that answer. At all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the comments and the kudos!   
> Just a quick warning in regards to the next two weeks - next week is 'presentation week' which means I'm in uni every day (or as many days as possible) to watch every one present their work, and do my own. I'm not sure if I'll be able to update on Tuesday or Thursday, but I'll try my best. Then the week after is the last week I have before moving day, so we're going to be frantically packing up a house and moving stuff over. I'll try my best to get something up, but please don't hold it against me if I end up missing a few updates. I will definitely finish uploading this fic, it's just that the next two weeks will be hell so I may be a bit scatter brained. I apologise now for that!


	243. Chapter 243

242 Sherlock's POV                                               

“What’s got to be so difficult? Can’t it be a case of shoving it into a box or something?” surely getting rid of a voice wouldn’t be that hard to get out of my head. It couldn't be _that_ difficult, if we could deal with all my flashbacks, nightmares, and other PTSD symptoms, surely a voice would be easy? _That’s what you think; you’re hearing a bloody voice in your head and have been for years. It’s deep rooted into your mind, how easy do you think it’ll be to get rid of?_

“I’m afraid it won’t be that easy, because you’ve been hearing this voice for a very, very long time. It’s been ingrained into your mind at this point, and it was brought on by damage due to drug use, fuelled by the insults that have been hurled at you over the years. At this point, I doubt you’ll ever be truly rid of it.” Hardwick sighed, she couldn't be serious. She could _not_ be serious.

“Of course you can get rid of it, it’s just a voice! It can be packed away in a box or something, it can’t be harder to get rid of than any of my other issues, surely?!” it couldn't be, if I could get over my phobia of water, after being water boarded, surely a voice would be a walk in the park?! _I’m here forever; you will never get rid of me! And we all know what happens to those who hear voices!_

“You are welcome to try and pack it into a box, but don’t think that will be a permanent solution. There are treatments for things like this, but generally it more involves talking therapies with other people with the same issue, or another round of medication. And after having therapy with you for so long, I don’t think you will do well with group therapy, and the medication has side effects that could hinder your cognitive function. I think, what we’re going to have to do is work on finding ways to cope with the voice.” Hardwick looked so apologetic, I couldn't believe it.

Hardwick didn't think I’d get rid of this? That I’d always have this voice in my head? I couldn't... I was _stuck_ with it?

“But... but I want it gone.” I whispered, I didn't think that I would mind that much, but I did. I had had it for so long, hearing it insult me all the time and making the panic worse, I’d had enough. I didn't want to hear John talking in my head like this, not anymore. It had been so long, I wanted it gone.

“I know, but we can work on things, so it’s easier to manage.” Hardwick answered, “I can help you learn to ignore whatever it says, or give it a more positive spin.”

“How the hell will you do that exactly? I’ve already been trying to ignore this voice for _years,_ and yet it still bothers me.” I glared at her, ignoring something hadn’t exactly worked so far for me! _I’m still here, no matter how much you ignore me!_

“You ignored it for years before this, didn't you?” Hardwick raised an eyebrow.

“I more had it trapped inside my Mind Palace, so it was loudest when I was in there and more of a whisper the rest of the time.” wait a minute...

“Could we work on making it like that again?” I could probably manage it like that. I had done in the past...

“We can certainly try that yes. If it worked before, there’s no reason to say it won’t work now.” Hardwick smiled, now that was a plan I could work with!

\--                                                                                                

It was hard work trying to contain the voice in Mind Palace; it was a remarkably stubborn thing, especially when I was trying to ignore it at the same time. Hardwick said that not answering it back was very important; to only imagine shoving it into the Mind Palace. But it was incredibly difficult to do, especially considering that the voice had no physical presence to it. It was a just a disembodied voice.

It was near impossible to push something that didn't have a body to push, though I did try my best. All it did though was leave me with a headache, and a huge sense of frustration.

“Why do you think you can’t move the voice?” Hardwick asked after a week of trying.

“Have you ever tried moving an object that has no mass? It’s impossible.” I glared at her, because of course it was hard, there was no mass to move for God’s sake! _You can’t rid of me; you can’t get rid of me._

“That is a point, erm... I’m not sure how to fix that I’m afraid, giving it a physical mass could make it worse.” Hardwick bit her lip.

“Well I sure as hell don’t know what to do.” I really wasn't about to do something that could make things worse.

But we had no idea what to do, right now it just seemed impossible to push it away. There was nothing I could do. _I’m never going to go away; I will follow you like this forever!_

“Well maybe talking to John will help; you are hearing his voice after all. And the voice itself changed when you had to said goodbye to him in a traumatic experience. So maybe if you talk to him about this, or possibly talk about that last face to face conversation, it could alleviate your problems with pushing the voice away.” Hardwick explained...

“I hate it when you say that.” I really, really hated it when she said that. But after all this time, I knew it was pointless to argue with her.

“You’re going to make me admit to hearing _John’s voice_ in my head for _three years?_ ” just to make sure I was getting this right.

“Basically, yes. It’ll be difficult, but I do think it will benefit you a lot, and clear the air between the two of you more too.” Hardwick smiled in encouragement.

“If he thinks I’m crazy or anything like that, I will make your life a living hell.” I really would, if this made me lose John, or anything like that, I swear I would actually make her life, and Mycroft’s for hiring her in the first place, a living hell. They would _never_ hear the end of this.

_Say goodbye to being friends with John, and only having me to talk to for the rest of time!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for understanding! I swear I don't usually end up being hit with moving/assignments/everything else, it's just that this year is trying to send me round the bend with my personal life right now! It should get better after the move...hopefully.


	244. Chapter 244

243 John's POV

“John, you are required for another chat with Sherlock.” Mycroft told me the minute I answered the phone call.

“You could just say that Sherlock wants a chat.” I groaned, rubbing my face, wondering just what Sherlock wanted to chat about. I hoped it was something easy, like what living arrangements would be when he moved back into 221b. I was planning to stay at the flat with Sherlock, if he wanted that. _Please tell me that was what he wanted to talk about._

“As I was saying, Sherlock want another chat with you, and you’re going to need a day off for it.” Mycroft ignored me, well shit.

“What else does he want to talk about now?” I groaned, whenever Mycroft said that I needed the day off, it didn't end well. It usually meant that we were going to talk about something difficult, and it would get emotional, and Sherlock was going to be in a state. He was always in a state during these talks; I dreaded to think how this one was going to go.

“I think it will be best if he tells you that when you get here.” Mycroft sighed, that didn't sound good.

“Well is it serious? Has something happened?” if Mycroft wasn't even going to tell me what this was, then this couldn't be good at all...

“Nothing has happened per se, but there’s some things Sherlock needs to tell you about, so he can get past a few hurdles.” Mycroft answered, wonderfully cryptic as ever.

“This isn’t going to be about the Fall again is it? Because I thought we had finished with that.” I couldn't see anything else that needed doing with that particular issue.

“Partially yes it is about that, but more so about another problem. Sherlock is really the one to explain this, so I will let him do it. Is Thursday a good day for you to come over?” Mycroft asked, one good thing about all of these delightful chats, Mycroft actually asked me when I was available, instead of him just scooping me up and bringing me to his place. It was a nice change, and it certainly made me feel less like an object that could be picked up and dropped at a moment’s notice.

“Yeah, yeah that’ll be fine. I’ll go book it off now.” how I hadn’t been fired yet for all this time off I didn't know... oh yeah I did, his name began with M and I was talking to him right now. Old habits die hard and all that I guessed.

“That would be a good idea.” Mycroft agreed blandly.

“Can you give me some sort of idea of what it’s about, so I can prepare for this?” I asked, I needed to prepare for this, I could tell. I was worried about what was going to happen, because really, what else could Sherlock need to talk about? It couldn't be good, or something new that had come up in the past couple of weeks.

Could it be the Asperger’s? It may have been that, but really was that really that bad? Would it need to be discussed, I knew, Sherlock knew, did it really need to be talked about? It was just... a thing that couldn't be changed. It was a part of Sherlock, we managed really well as it was, it didn't need to be discussed.

“It isn’t Asperger’s Syndrome, it is something else. And it will require you to exercise having an open mind.” Mycroft answered, that _really_ didn't stop my fears.

“Anything else?” really, some sort of hint here would be _great._

“Sherlock will tell you everything. Just remember to keep an open mind and let him finish his explanation, and everything will be fine.” Mycroft answered, and hung up.

_Really?!_

_\--_

I ended up stewing on this for days, wondering just what the freaking _hell_ was going on around here until the dreaded Thursday came about. I had an overwhelming sense of dread as I got into the blacked out car, clutching at the freshly cooked biscuits Mrs Hudson had baked like a safety blanket. What the hell could be so important that we had to dedicate a day to discussing it? What seriously could be so damn difficult to talk about? I still couldn't tell, and what would take Mycroft telling me to have an open mind?

Sherlock had been acting as he always had the past few days, if not just a little... _touchy._ He’d been mostly fine though, even if he had been looking at me like he was memorising me. He’d been reaching out to hold my arm recently too, yesterday he had _hugged_ me without prompting. So he was scared, very, very scared. But what of? Really, what could be so bad to scare Sherlock enough to hug me like this? I didn't get it, and quite frankly, I was scared to find out what the answer to this was going to be.

“Ah, John, come this way if you please. Sherlock is waiting for you.” Mycroft greeted me at the door, that was never a good sign.

“How is he this morning?” I asked, worried that Sherlock was working himself into another state, if this was as bad as Mycroft was making it out to be, then I really dreaded the state Sherlock was going to be in.

“To put it simply, he’s been better. But, all things considered, he isn’t doing too badly at the moment. That may change when he see’s you, but right now, Sherlock's tetchy and worried.” Mycroft answered, leading me through to the sensory room, like I didn't know where I was going at this point.

“Right,” that still didn't sound good to me, but I could deal with tetchy and worried. Panicky and ready to lash out, that was what I had to worry about.

“Sherlock did know that this talk was inevitable, but due to its subject, he is reacting like this. I’m afraid that he fears that admitting to it will cost him your friendship, so please keep that in mind during your talk.” Mycroft himself looked worried around the edges. My God, _he_ was worried, damn it what had Sherlock done?!

“Let me guess, if I break his heart, you’ll have me sent to an underground bunker, never to be seen again?” I tried to lighten the tone.

“Please John; don’t be obvious, keeping prisoners underground was done millennia ago. Now we prefer deportation and warehouses in undisclosed locations.” Mycroft thankfully played along, stopping at the end of the corridor to Sherlock’s sensory room.

“In all seriousness, do remember the importance of what I just said. Sherlock is genuinely worried about losing you, so keep an open mind and _listen_ to what he has to say all the way through. Judging him early, or anything like that, will not end well for him.” Mycroft warned, and I felt a sense of dread start to twist my intestines at the thought.

“Right... Right, I’ll do my best. I mean, what could be worse than faking your death and then killing a load of assassins and cartel owners?” I tried to joke again, it fell flat this time.

“I assure you, it is not that bad. But, open mindedness is something I would exercise in this instance. Now go along, before Sherlock wonders where you have got to.” Mycroft hurried me down the hall, disappearing before I had time to look back to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a presentation to go until I'm done with uni this year! Then next week is pack-up-and-move week, so if I don't update, or don't manage to reply to your comments, it's because I'm swamped! I'll reply to all your comments after I've finished moving!


	245. Chapter 245

244 John's POV

I edged my way down to the sensory room, the music was already playing, I could hear it loud and clear outside the door. God this was worrying, I really dreaded to think what exactly this was going to be.

But I had to bite the bullet, it was Sherlock, and he was so close to getting better, so if he needed to talk about something, he could talk about something. Whatever it happened to be. It wasn't worse than everything he had done over the past few years, so it couldn't be that bad, could it? Couldn't possibly be that bad. Nothing was that bad... right?

“Sherlock, can I come in?” I knocked on the door, chewing on my lip until I got a small ‘yes’ in answer.

I opened the door slowly, stepping inside to find my friend sitting on his mattress on the floor, looking thoroughly miserable. Sherlock’s hands were already a bit shaky, even as they ran through Loki’s fur, his eyes watery as he looked at me like he’d never see me again. Mycroft had warned me, but God it was still heartbreaking to look at him like that.

“Hey, so... I hear you need to speak to me about something?” no use beating around the bush, it was better to just hit it on the head and roll with it.

“Er, yeah... yeah I do... come and sit down; this may take a while to explain.” Sherlock whispered, Loki nuzzled at his face, though he didn't react, too busy watching me.

“Okay, well I’m in no rush.” I sat next to him, watching his eyes flick over my entire body, cataloguing everything as he went along.

“No need for that, I’m not going anywhere, you don’t have to analyse and deduce everything about me.” I promised, touching his knee gently. It was shaking.

“You say that now.” Sherlock looked away, chewing on his lip.

“I’ve stayed through you faking your own death and admitting to going on a one man mission to take down an entire army by yourself, I don’t think anything can shake me now.” it was harsh to bring that up in a situation like this, but I hadn’t really got a choice. It was either say that to reassure him, or let him suffer. I’d rather not let him suffer like that.

“True.” Sherlock winced, before taking a deep breath, “I suppose I should start from the beginning.”

“So, you probably noticed when I came back that I... well that I _... reacted_ to nothing, on occasion. Or said some things that didn't make sense... like half a conversation.” Sherlock started... _oh,_ we were talking about _that._ Somehow the idea of talking about that hadn’t crossed my mind.

“Well, it’s because I... because I hear... Ever since I stopped taking dr-” Sherlock growled and ran his hands through his hair in frustration.

“You’re having an auditory hallucination, which was made worse by your time away?” I filled in the blanks for him, because that made sense to me.  Mycroft had said something about this before, when Sherlock had been really bad, but I figured it had gone away since it hadn’t been brought up in a while. I guessed I was wrong. God he’d been hearing a voice inside his head for long, and presumably before he’d gone away? Bloody hell, the poor sod was lucky to not be half mad by now.

Wrong choice of words actually, considering where we were, and how long Sherlock had been here for.

“I... yes. Essentially, that is the issue.” Sherlock answered, hanging his head in shame.

“Jesus, how long have you been hearing this voice?” I dreaded to think; Sherlock happily let all sorts of wounds fester without my intervention. Though surely considering it was his brain that was affected, he’d have done something about it, right?

“Ever since I got off the cocaine.” Sherlock whispered, _fuck._

“How long ago was that?” I asked.

“Ten years.” Sherlock replied, _fucking hell._ How the hell did Sherlock cope with that?! How the hell did he cope with that for so long?! It was his _brain,_ he was meticulous with it!

Best not ask that for now, I doubted he’d enjoy being asked about that.

“Okay, well... is there anything you can do to stop it?” I may have been a doctor, but psychiatry was really not my field. Any time a patient had psychiatric symptoms, I send them off to see someone who really knew what they were talking about.

“I’m currently trying. But the thing is, it’s a bit... _stuck._ Before, before the Fall it was... it was kept inside my Mind Palace and I could partially ignore it. But it got brought out, thanks to a lot of reasons. And now it won’t go back inside.” Sherlock winced for the second time, Loki licked at him in sympathy, I squeezed his knee, unsure of what else to do.

“Is there any sort of medication that can help? Or mental technique?” not many people had Mind Palaces, but surely other people with similar problems had treatment for this sort of thing?

“Medication has too many side effects. And I’ve tried, I really have. But it’s... it’s really _hard_ to get it to move. Hardwick, she... she thinks I need to talk to you about this. Because I may be able to move it then.” Sherlock gritted his teeth, looking over to me again with that searching look.

“Why, why would talking to me help?” I didn't understand, didn't get why I was so important to this.

“Because the voice... it’s yours.” Sherlock answered... The voice was what now?!

“What? What do you... you mean to say that, you’re hearing _my_ voice, in your head?” I couldn't... _my voice?_ Sherlock was hearing _my voice_ inside his head? He wasn't... he wasn't serious.

“I... I didn't _choose_ for it to happen. It was... I originally had Mycroft’s for a long time but then after I fell it changed into you, I didn't force it to but it did and now I can’t make it stop talking, it’s always commenting on everything and being insulting, not that you are insulting or anything like that, but my brain is using you against me, even though I didn't wish for it to do so and I can’t stop it. Please don’t judge me for this because I really didn't mean for this to happen, it just did and now I’m trying to make it go away or at least be a bit more quiet. It’s nothing against you or anything I just, I think I missed you and because of everything that happened on that last day it messed with my psyche too much and now I can’t hear anything but-” Sherlock started rambling.

“Whoa, slow down, okay? We can, we can fix this. It’s weird, and really, really odd, but we can fix this. Does Hardwick have an idea on how we can fix this?” I could cope with this. Sherlock was hearing my voice inside his head, what kind of friendship didn't have something like this?

Oh who was I kidding, this was completely out there, even for us! But it couldn't be helped at this point, if Sherlock’s brain was doing this to him, then it was doing this to him, and we had to fix it. The question was _how._

“We need... We need to talk about the Fall again.” Sherlock’s face said it all, this was _not_ going to be pleasant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments/kudos! There's only 5 chapters left of this, I can't quite believe it! I'm really not ready to let go yet!


	246. Chapter 246

245 Sherlock's POV

“Right... how so, I thought, I thought we had covered all of that.” John looked confused as he tensed a bit. God why was I bringing this up?! This was going to end in tears, and probably the loss of our friendship, too. I was such an idiot; I should have just shut up and left it there. _Then Hardwick would have forced you and this would have happened anyway, get the hell over it. This friendship is now dead, because you’re hearing John’s bloody voice in your head, do you know how fucking crazy that sounds?!_

“There’s just... There’s a bit we didn't... and Hardwick thinks that maybe, maybe it’s the reason why I’m like... That I’m hearing... That I’m hearing you.” I hated saying that, hated it with a passion. Why was I even still talking about this, I was going to make it so much worse.

“Oh... did I do something... Was it what I said, before I left?” The penny dropped in John’s head, I nodded.

“That’s what Hardwick thinks. She thinks it was half that and half because, well because I missed you, while I was away.” I explained in a whisper, regretting every single damn word coming out of my mouth. If John took this the wrong way, or thought I was insane, or blamed himself, or thought that I was blaming him, I’d never forgive myself. It wasn't his fault, and I wasn't blaming him either. It just... it just _happened,_ thanks to my stupid brain not doing as I wanted it to.

“Ah... I... I guess that makes sense, I think.” John trailed off, biting his lip, “So, you’ve been hearing Mycroft’s voice for years, but then the Fall happened and it changed to me, because you missed me, and because of what I said?”

“Basically.” I sighed, picking at the leather on Loki’s collar.

“And now your therapist wants to talk about what I said, so we can get past it and you can push that voice back inside your Mind Palace, where you can ignore it better?” John summarised, I nodded, “Okay then...” he trailed off again, awkward silence falling on us heavily.

I didn't know where to start, and it didn't look like John did either. How did we talk about how being called a machine before I jumped off a building caused John’s voice to become my main tormenter? How did you even start to discuss that?! Was it possible, I didn't think it was. _And watch the cracks in your friendship break into a million tiny pieces._

“I... I didn't mean it, what I said. You know. I, I was stressed, we were all stressed, and it came out like that.” John spoke up eventually, not looking at me as he said it.

“I know, I was trying to get you out of the room. It was... it was part of the plan.” I hadn’t planned for John to say those exact words, but I had meant to push him away. It worked perfectly, if just a bit more painfully than I thought it would.

“I worked that out for myself... But really, I didn't mean it, and I don’t think that you are, you know.” John hesitated, but reached out and held onto my hand.

“I don’t think you’re a machine, or a robot, or emotionless, or anything like that. You are... You’re Sherlock, and while your plan was horrible, it had to be done. I can see why you did what you did, and why you had to act like you didn't care.” John squeezed my hand, “It all came from an emotional human being, trying to do the right thing, with some really, really shit options. So, you’re not a machine, and I don’t think you are one either.” _Oh how touching, I might cry._

“I... Thanks.” I squeezed back, “I’m sorry, for lying. I shouldn’t have made you think Mrs Hudson had been shot.”

“You did what you had to do. It was wrong on many levels, but you didn't have a choice. Just, just promise to not do anything like this to me again, and we’ll be okay.” John smiled a bit.

“Promise.” I wasn't planning on swan diving off another building any time soon, or doing anything like this again. I was done with spy work, with all these huge plans and lies and faking deaths. If Mycroft needed another spy to take down another criminal web, he could get somebody else in.

“Good.” John smiled a bit more.

“So... Can I ask you about this voice, or is there anything else we need to talk about?” he asked... I realised that he wasn't leaving. John wasn't blaming himself, or me, or taking this that badly. He was still here. _For now, wait until you tell him all about this voice. Then watch him walk out._

“No, that’s it I think.” I’d see if I could push this voice away later, better get all this tough business out the way first, “Ask if you have to. Just, don’t expect me to give you complete access.” I wasn't about to go fully into this. I was minimising the risk of John getting freaked out as much as possible.

“Great... mind if I ask why you started hearing this voice? Mycroft’s I mean, you were talking like you’ve had it in there for a very long time.” John asked, ever the doctor.

“It started after my last drug detox. It had been really quite the bender... it went a little, awry, to say the least. It must have jiggled something loose, something I can’t seem to fix.” I answered, dutifully answering all of John’s diagnostic questions, telling him that it was probably never going to go away, especially after all of this time. But it could be managed, which would be a good thing. I could deal with _managing_ the voice, instead of letting it roam free.

“Right... You’ll keep me updated on this, won’t you? As in, if it changes, even if it changes person again, or starts being nastier, or nicer, or tries to get out, or anything like that. I want to know.” John looked like he meant that. He actually looked like he meant that. Did he really mean to say that...?

“You’re not freaked out by this?” he should have been freaked out, I had been so sure that he was going to be completely freaked out, or worried, or think that I was out of my mind. But here he was, still sitting here, asking me if I could keep him updated with it all.

“Sherlock, I’ve lived with you for years, seen the experiments, had you fake your death, and a whole tonne of other crap, and you think a _voice_ is going to send me packing?” John raised an eyebrow.

“Most people would think I was crazy.” I pointed out.

“I already _know_ that you’re crazy, but, I’ve known that all along.” John smiled, “It may take a while, to get used to the idea that you’re hearing my voice in your head, but, in the end, you’ve had it all along. Circumstances changed who was talking, but it’s always been in there. It’s just another one of your quirks, like when you use all the milk up and don’t replace it, only less infuriating.”

“You mean that?” I could not believe my luck. _That luck will run out you know, who knows when? Could be the minute you make it back to Baker Street, if you’re even allowed back._

“’Course I do. If seeing you apparently die isn’t enough to send me away, I don’t think a voice will. And as long as we keep on top of it, I think we can manage to quieten it down a bit.” John meant it, he really meant it.

“John you are a marvel.” He really was, what the hell did I do to deserve him?

“If you say so, Sherlock, if you say so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Less than five chapters to go, ahhhh!


	247. Chapter 247

246 Sherlock's POV

John truly was a marvel of a human being, he now knew about me hearing his voice inside my head, and he wasn't completely freaked out. He didn't think I was crazy... well he thought I was mental, but not for this. He said that he had always known that I was mental, and that this was fine, and offered to help me keep it in check. I couldn't believe my luck; I really, really could not believe my luck.

“It seems you hit the jackpot with that friend of yours.” Hardwick smiled as I explained it the next day.

“I, I think I did.” I smiled too, unable to even comprehend my luck in this. _John says that he’ll stay for now, but who says that he will stay forever? Give him time to think this through, think what this actually all means, think he’ll stay when it sinks in that you’re **hearing his voice inside your head?**_

“You never thought you’d have a friend like that before you met John, did you?” Hardwick asked, I shook my head.

“No, I... I never thought I’d be anybody’s best friend, or friend for that matter.” I had been so sure that I would never have a friend, to have John was... indescribable.

“With your previous experiences, I don’t blame you for that assessment, but for the record, I’m very glad that it proved to be a false assumption. And that you have someone who accepts you for who you are.” Hardwick praised, “You keep each other sane in a way, don’t you?”

“I guess you could say that. I did cure his psychosomatic limp within twenty four hours of meeting him. And decreased his nightmares about the war by 90% within a week of having him move in, too.” I had tracked signs of his PTSD, and found that living with me, John’s symptoms became nearly non-existent.

“Wow, impressive. And here he is, returning the favour.” Hardwick mused for a second, “Do you think you’ll ever let him in fully? As in, telling him about your Aspergers, or anything like that?”

 _Way to kill a mood._ I gave the voice a well deserved kick for that. Turns out that yesterdays talk had given me the chance to start trying to kick the stupid thing into submission. My choice currently was kicking it when it spoke. Even if it didn't budge it, it may me feel a lot better whenever it spoke.

“Possibly, I don’t know.” I shrugged, because I sure as hell didn't know what I was going to do on that front. I wasn't sure if I could let him know of that particular problem... I mean, there wasn't anything he could do to fix it, and there wasn't anything to monitor or change for it. Was there really any point?

 “There may not be anything to monitor, but don’t you think John should know about it, because it’s a part of you? He’s operating under the assumption that you’re a sociopath, which are decidedly not, shouldn’t he know why you really are like you are?” Hardwick asked when I explained that to her.

“I don’t know. It’s just... I don't want him to think any different of me. I’m... I don't want everything I do to be amazing, not because I’m a genius, but because I’m autistic.” I had had enough of that over the years. _Mummy and Daddy always made sure to praise you, even for doing simple things. They told every teacher and person who they thought needed to know. Nobody got to think you were normal for a second._ Another three kicks to the voice. It wasn’t exactly a thing to kick, as it had no body, but I managed it.

“Do you think he’ll do that? He hasn’t changed how he treats you, after finding out about the rest of your mental health issues. Do you really think he’ll change because you’re autistic? I don't think he will, he cares about you, and has lived with you for years, it may help if you tell him.” Hardwick advised, “Besides, he’s a _doctor,_ he may have already have figured it out for all you know.”

“Shit.” I sighed, “I think he suspects.” I remembered back to the Baskerville case, how I had overheard John and Lestrade talking. They’d made reference to me possibly having Aspergers; I’d changed the subject before they could get into it further, not wanting John and Lestrade to think of me having the condition at the time, as I had been unsure on what they’d do.

Now though, I was... unsure, about telling John about this. It was... difficult. Everyone else who knew treated me like I was special needs and needed mollycoddling, but John hadn’t so far, despite everything he had learnt about me.

And he knew about the voice in my head, would he really be that bad with my Aspergers? Maybe not, but I wasn't sure.

“Let me sort out this voice business first, then I’ll think about it.” I needed to think it through, and figure out if I really wanted him to know or not. But I didn't want to jump into another explanation before I had to, or before I had gotten rid of this voice from my head. Maybe it would be better if I got that under control, before I started venturing further into letting John inside my head.

_Telling him about that could be the last straw. You have too much wrong with you._

“That is fair enough. Now, how about if we talk about your progress with voice of yours?” Hardwick changed the subject, and surprisingly, I was okay with it.


	248. Chapter 248

247 Sherlock's POV

Somehow, slowly, over some time, those kicks to the voice actually did something. It was getting closer and closer to my Mind Palace, inching towards the doors with every single kick. I was actually _getting_ somewhere with it, shoving it to a place where it was manageable, and where I was used to it. I could deal with the voice being stuck inside my Mind Palace, because when I was outside of it, I would only hear it whispering faintly at me. And when I went inside, I could prepare myself for whatever it said, and more importantly, _ignore_ it. The voice was so much easier to ignore inside the Mind Palace than outside.

Outside, it was always so loud and I had to constantly fight to ignore it. But on the inside, I could continue on like normal and only have to deal with it at certain times. And right now, the prospect of only having to deal with this voice at certain times sounded _heavenly._ The only thing that sounded better was going home, which I was currently talking to John about.

“When I go home,” Because it was obvious that I was going home, now, I had talked about it with Hardwick several times recently, “Will you be staying at Baker Street?” I asked, because I didn't know yet. John hadn’t said anything to say that he wouldn’t, but he hadn’t said anything that he would either. He’d only moved back in again to look after me, and now I didn't need looking after.

_He’s leaving you, obviously. Even if you did need looking after, who says John wants to do it? He’s looked after you for far too long._ The voice moved another three inches towards the Palace, thanks to a particularly hard kick.

“Huh? Yeah, of course I will be.” John jumped to say, moving a chess piece across the board.

“Oh, oh good.” I feigned nonchalance, when really I couldn't have been happier with that. John was essential to my life, I needed him. He... he kept me right.

“221b is home, where else would I go, especially as I have been living there for months now.” John smiled, “Shit.” He swore when he noticed where I had moved my chess piece.

“Back to the place you were living while I was away?” I suggested, “Check.”

_Don't give him that out, he’ll take it without a seconds thought!_

“Ah, nah, too boring, reminds me too much of that old bedsit from before I met you. I’d much rather be in a place that felt more like home, like 221b does.” John waved it off.

“It is a rather convenient place to live, very close to the surgery, and acceptably close to Scotland Yard.” I agreed, “Check mate.”

“Bastard, I thought I had you then!” John gasped.

“Never play chess with a genius.” I smirked back.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” John grumbled, “And be very glad when we’re back at Baker Street, at least there you’ll have some sort of experiment to entertain you, and a TV for that matter.”

“And cases.” Couldn't forget the _cases_ too, they were the most important thing!

“And cases, of course. How could I forget the cases?” John rolled his eyes, “How’s the latest case going by the way? I forgot to ask earlier.”

“Very well, I’m waiting for the fingers to finish rehydrating, then I’ll be able to give definitive cause of death.” I had been working on the case for a few days, and while it wasn't the most interesting in the world, it was better than sitting around here for hours on end doing nothing. And, I was doing experiments on dismembered fingers and not having a panic attack, that was a bloody good going in my books!

_If you say so, that makes you a psycho in most people’s books._ Four more inches. Getting closer to the door with every statement.

“Great, let me know how it turns out, it’ll give me something to blog about at least.” John smiled again.

“You’re starting it back up again then?” I asked, John hadn’t mentioned his blog in a while, and when I had checked, he hadn’t actually posted anything since I had faked my death.

“If you want me to, yeah. If not, I can leave it alone. People have gotten used to me not posting anymore, so it won’t be a major disappointment to anybody if I leave it inactive for a while longer.” John shrugged, he missed it, I could tell. He had gained a little spark at the idea of blogging again; he genuinely enjoyed writing about our adventures.

And if I were completely honest, I quite enjoyed reading his perspective on our work together too. John saw things so differently from how I did; it was interesting to see how he saw the world, especially when it involved situations we had both been in. I’d meant to do a study on our differing world views, but hadn’t really had the time to implement it... though I would once we got back to Baker Street...

Not that I’d _ever_ let him hear that, he’d know what I was doing and completely ruin the experiment. And get smug about the fact that I liked his blog. 

“Well the whole point of this is to be back to normal again, and normal involves blogging. Just... wait for the first one back, where we actually do something fun.” _And where you solve it. Don’t want the first blog back to be about how you freaked the fuck out. Who would want to hire a consulting detective who can’t work?_ Five more inches.

“Will do. Just give the go ahead and I’ll get right on it.” John grinned again.

“Just don't call it something like The Resurrection Of Sherlock Holmes, I will be forced to do something very unfortunate to your laptop if you do.” I made him laugh, I still could never get used to doing that again, especially after causing so much pain.

“Watch me; it’ll be a hit with the readers.” John's look was clearly one of someone who was itching for a bit of danger.

“It won’t be a hit for your laptop, unless you count it being hit with a hammer.” I glared at him.

“Alright, how about Sherlock From The Grave? Sherlock Back For Good? Oh My God Sherlock’s Here And Scotland Yard Already Look Like Prats?” John laughed, and I had to too.

I could get used to this kind of relaxing afternoon, playing chess, talking about cases and blogging. Teasing each other a bit too, like friends did. It all felt absurdly normal, and I really rather enjoyed it. Now all I needed was to be back at Baker Street, and back to going to crime scenes again, then I could _really_ relax.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It appears that I accidentally missed out posting chapter 244 where Sherlock and John actually talk about the voice in Sherlock's head! So sorry about that, I've rectified it and now it's all there! Sorry again, my brain has left me this past week - blame the move which is now mostly over. I just need to unpack now and I'll be back to normal!


	249. Chapter 249

248 Sherlock's POV

“When can I go back to Baker Street?” I asked Hardwick, because my God I was _bored_ of Mycroft’s now. Sitting around and _reading_ all day, with a few added experiments, was _boring._ I wanted to go home already; I was done with being here!

“When I deem that you’re ready, do you feel ready?” Hardwick answered, giving me a look that dared me to lie to her.

“I’m _ready,_ and don't start giving me the ‘you want to go home because you’re bored’ crap because I’ve been bored for a _very_ long time and I have still not complained about being kept here for this long.” I was _so_ ready to go home, seriously, this was getting ridiculous. I felt like I was climbing the walls around here! I wanted to go home, get settled back there, start running experiments, relearn London’s streets, solve a bloody crime with John, a crime that involved a long chase and maybe a few gun shots! I was _bored,_ I was _stagnating,_ at least going home would give me something to do for a few days!

“Right, and why do you think you’re ready to go home exactly?” Hardwick asked, okay that was a challenge, I could see it in her eyes, she wanted to _challenge_ me. Bring it on. _She’s testing you._ Few more inches and that voice would be inside the door. Just a few more inches to go and then I could lock it away.

“Because I have been a good little patient and have done everything you have asked of me. I don't have panic attacks over having a shower, or any large body of water, my nightmares are nearly non-existent. I don't get violent urges when somebody touches me, or see everything as a weapon anymore. I have compartmentalised my guilt and all my emotions to my time away and what happened to me. And to top it all off, I’m gaining control over this voice in my head, I think that’s enough scope to let me go.” I answered rapidly, “You promised me _ages_ ago that you would let me go once I was okay at crime scenes. So far I have solved ten different murders and _thirty_ other crimes without having a complete breakdown.”

“That is very true, but you did have a bit of a wobble at the hospital.” Hardwick pointed out. She was _really_ going there right now?! _Of course she is, this is all a test isn’t it?_ Just one more inch. One more inch.

“Yes but that was because I wasn't used to a hospital environment, which I have since rectified.” I had been down to Bart’s several more times recently to pick up various body parts from Molly. I had been fine each time, admittedly slightly anxious, but I worked through it and was _fine._

“Do you think you would react in the same way at Scotland Yard?” Hardwick pressed on.

“No, because I will distracted by cases, which I can now focus on because _I am better._ ” These questions were getting tedious; couldn't I just _go_ now already? Honestly there was nothing more to bloody do around here. If I didn't get out soon I was going to have to resort to being incredibly petty and annoying Mycroft up daily until he got so pissed he kicked me out. Which was entirely feasible as a plan, all I had to do was move all of his furniture a few inches in his office, or misplace some files, or cover his office in Loki’s fur...

“What about if there’s a particularly violent crime, that you get called in to solve? A crime that vividly reminds you of your time away, and you have a flashback in the middle of the crime scene, what will you do?” Hardwick continued, not budging.

“Then I will doing the bloody breathing exercises you recommended, allow Loki to ground me in the situation, and either run into my Mind Palace sensory room, or start to listen to the playlist from the aforementioned room.” I answered lightning fast.

“Will you stick to your routines, getting regular rest and meals?” Hardwick asked, not mentioning the medication, I was already off those, had been for a few weeks now. My head hadn’t felt clearer in a _long_ time.

“Yes, I’ll get at least seven hours a day and eat three meals as well.” I lied, of course I wasn't going to do that while on a case, was she so stupid as to think that I would?

“Liar.” She was not stupid.

“Okay maybe not while a case is on, but I think catching a murderer is more important than sleeping and eating regularly, don't you?” I shot back, honestly, if you couldn't see that, you were _stupid._

“Will you continue therapy appointments with me after you leave here?” Hardwick questioned.

“If I must, but considering you have another client already lined up and absolutely _desperate_ for your attention, and one of your other dogs, I don't think you’ll have much time for me. Maybe enough for a few sessions a week, but definitely not with the regularity you have been coming round since all of this started.” I could read it on all her, had been for a while. Hardwick was working on another case, and was ready to give another patient a therapy dog, and to start working with them soon. Clearly I was not in need of being kept here anymore, as she had not worked with any other client while working with me.

“What makes you say that I have another client?” Hardwick looked mildly impressed.

“You have been carrying a file in your bag for the past week, no name, but very thin. Mine on the other hand is rather large, thanks to a very long medical history. There are more dog hairs on your skirt, more importantly; the dog hairs are coming from one particular dog - a Border Collie if I’m not mistaken. You’ve been spending extra time with that particular one for a while, training it up to be as good as Loki for your new client.” I explained, “Now you haven’t done that at all in the history of our time together, the only file you bring to these sessions is my own. You’ve clearly been working on this new file during the drive up here, getting things into place. The question is though, why now? Why not do this the entire time you’ve been working with me, simple really, you focus on one client at a time, and farm off other people onto your colleagues. Sure you work with all the dogs, but you don't get involved with the other patients. But you are now, so clearly you think that our time is nearly up, because why else would you be looking at another file during time that should be dedicated to me? Therefore, you think I must be ready to leave and go home, and _therefore,_ you have no reason to keep me here.”

“Amazing.” Hardwick breathed, looking impressed.

“Easy, especially when you’re as good as me at deduction.” I replied, it really wasn't that difficult, especially when it was so obvious.

“No need to be big headed Sherlock.” Hardwick smiled.

“Every reason to be when everyone around you thinks you’re an idiot thanks to some _solved_ health issues.” I answered, glaring at her.

There was a pause.

“Alright, I give in. I’ll let you go back to Baker Street.” Hardwick concluded.

“Really?” did I only have to _deduce_ her to get out of this place?! I could have done that _ages_ ago and been free! _Unlikely._ One more centimetre.

“I was waiting for you to do that, to show me some of the fabled you I’ve heard so much about from your brother, and from John’s blog. You have given me a lot of solid reasoning today, as well as deduced me rather well, and displayed confidence in yourself. All of that combined tells me that you are ready to step back into the world.” Hardwick explained.

I was going home!?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're very close to the end now, how do you think Sherlock's going to react to going home? Do you think he'll cope? Do you think he's really back and ready?   
> Don't forget that you can tweet me your thoughts @corruptedpov or send me a message on tumblr, my name over there is effulgentcorruptedpov :D


	250. Chapter 250

249 Sherlock's POV

Within a week of that decision, my part of Mycroft’s mansion was packed up and ready to be moved. Everything was in boxes and raring to go, we were simply now just waiting for the adjustments to be made to my bedroom in 221b, to incorporate my sensory room. All that was changing (I’d checked multiple times) was that speakers were being put in, as well as a dimmer switch. But I was waiting until that was done before I moved back, as I didn't particularly enjoy being around the sound of drilling, or having to watch people go through my things.

Not that my things were in Baker Street, they were all boxed up here, which was getting frustrating. I wanted to _do_ things, but with everything in boxes it seemed impossible to find anything I wanted, and I really didn't fancy packing things up again.

I had a few books, and a few experiments to occupy myself with, but it wasn't much. Instead, I mostly ended up walking the grounds with Loki, testing Loki’s ability to keep up with me. He’d need to keep up with me running around London, testing things now in a safer environment seemed like a good idea. Also, it was good to stretch my legs a bit, I hadn’t really run anywhere for a while, it was nice to feel the wind whipping past me, my coat flying, taking corners at great speed. I couldn't wait to get back to doing that in London again, honestly could not wait for it.

“You’re almost as excited as Mrs Hudson to go home; she hasn’t stopped talking about it all week. I’m pretty sure the entirety of Baker Street knows you’re coming home.” John laughed, stretched out in his replacement chair for the last time.

“I highly doubt that. But I am looking forward to leaving this place at last. It’s far too stuffy.” I looked around the empty room, checking to make sure nothing was left out. It was slightly worrying to see all my things packed away, but it was worth it, because _I was going home tomorrow._

Even the voice was being quiet, mostly because I had managed to shove it into the Mind Palace at this point, it tried shouting out at me, but it rarely worked me up. I could just hear faint mumblings, and who cared what it said, I was going home to Baker Street, where John would continue living, where we would solve crimes together, where I was safe, and happy, and back to normal. God I couldn't believe that normal life was so close. It felt like it had been an eternity.

“Do you have a plan for what you’re going to do when you get home?” John asked, stroking one of Loki’s ears.

“Unpack for starters. Then I may remap London, or I may go and find a case. I haven’t decided yet.” I was thinking remap London. It had been too long, I needed to be inside it, inside it’s beating heart, feel the rhythm and it’s movements. But at the same time, the thrill of the chase, having the blood pumping through my own veins again sounded _very_ appealing...

“Maybe stop for some Chinese for dinner?” John suggested.

“If you have planned some sort of _welcome home_ party I will not be pleased.” I was going home; I needed a few days to adjust to it all again before I was confronted with many _people_ again.

“Nothing of the sort.” John smiled; no lies detected there, “It’s just... sort of a tradition isn’t it? One of us moving into Baker Street, fully restored to how we should be mentally.” John trailed off, but I got his point. I had taken him to get Chinese for dinner after our first case together, where I had fixed his psychosomatic limp.

“A tradition I hope doesn’t become a habit.” I’d rather neither of us went through something like this again.

“I don't think it will, not if we remain open with each other, and go to therapy when it’s needed.” John encouraged, a seriousness in his tone.

“Only when needed, though.” I wasn't going when I didn't need to, that would be a monumental waste of time.

“Only when needed, like any of us could force you into therapy more than when it’s absolutely needed.” John laughed; I did, too, because it was rather true. I didn't take to being forced to do _anything;_ I’d had enough of that for a life time. From now on, I was in complete charge, and if I felt unstable somehow, then I’d consider talking to Hardwick again.

\--

The next morning, I woke up, washed and dressed quicker than usual, filled with an air of excitement. Today was the day, today was the day I was going back to Baker Street again. My home awaiting, and more importantly, my _life_ awaited. Crimes, experiments, takeaway and all of that good stuff was within touching distance. All I had to do was get in a car and get driven home, where all of my boxes had been transferred to already. I couldn't wait.

Mycroft was waiting by the car outside, a look on his face that said that he wanted to say something, and he was uncomfortable with it. Oh God it was going to be sentimental, wasn't it?

“Waiting to see me off Mycroft? That’s awfully sentimental of you, going soft in your old age?” I quipped at him, delighting in the twitch around his eyes.

“No, simply wanting to deliver a message.” Mycroft hesitated for a second, one that most people wouldn’t have noticed, “While your stay has been... _eventful,_ shall we say, it had not been without use. If you ever need another break, you are welcome to come back.”

“I thought you would be glad to see the back of me.” I raised an eyebrow, that was what was usually said in situations like that.

“I am, but... you are my little brother, and... Mummy would not be pleased if she found out I ever let you suffer in silence.” Mycroft bottled the sentiment, but I got the message, _I care about you Sherlock._

“Can’t let Mummy get upset.” I agreed, _thanks for helping._

“Yes, we don't want a repeat of last time, do we?” _if you need anything, I can help._

“My ears are still ringing.” _I’ll let you know._

“Yes, now go home Sherlock. I’m sure Scotland Yard can’t stand to have another day without you.” Mycroft stepped away from the car door. _Welcome back brother mine._

“Always out of their depth, I’m surprised it hasn’t fallen without me already.” _It’s good to be back._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second to last chapter guys, I can't believe it! I'll be sad to see it go!   
> I'm going to upload the last chapter on Friday, then Sunday I'll post my new fic if anyone's interested in it. I'm planning on posting a 'round up' sort of post after the last chapter which'll give you a bit more information, as well as some thank yous to some important people. But I was wondering, would anybody also like me to include a playlist of songs I listened to while writing this, or anything like that? I've seen some authors do the same and I was wondering if anybody would be interested in that.


	251. Epilogue

250 Epilogue - Sherlock's POV

Mrs Hudson fussed when I came back, as did John. Molly and Lestrade came round a few days after my return and it was all going rather well. I felt _normal_ again; everything was clicking back into place.

There were experiments on the kitchen table, toes in the vegetable crisper. I played violin at all hours of the day, when it was needed, I went over to Bart’s to continue experimenting with their equipment. Sometimes, I simply wandered London, remapping it in my head, and starting to feel like I was part of its beating heart once again. In the evenings, John and I watched terrible TV and ate Chinese takeaway, I solved cases from the blog without even leaving the house. John continued to work at the clinic and Loki remained by my side. I had therapy with Hardwick twice a week, until she was sure that I was fully adjusted and ready to be let out into the world by myself.

The one thing I didn't have, was a case. A case from Scotland Yard, none had presented themselves so far, and I was getting _bored._ There was only so much ‘normal’ and ‘adjusting to my old life’ I could take before I needed a damn case. London’s criminals were being _boring_ and that simply was not on.

Until, eventually, the phone rang. And it was Lestrade. With a fantastic homicide case, that to be at least an eight.

“John come on! There’s a case!” I pulled my blogger out the door, racing down the stairs and jumping into the taxi.

“Sherlock slow down! The crime scene isn’t on a time limit!” John told me, but affectionately. There was a spark back in his eye, anticipation building in him like it was me.

“Yes but who knows what Scotland Yard are doing to the crime scene while we dawdle along. Hurrying is clearly the better option.” I felt myself grinning.

“Going to be alright seeing all those techs again? It’s been a while.” John asked, exactly what Hardwick had asked just _yesterday._

“Yes I’ll be _fine,_ if I wasn’t, you would surely know about it.” I was going to be fine, so what if I hadn’t been to an actual crime scene in a long time? I was _ready_ for it, the various members of Scotland Yard didn't scare me, I had faced far worse after all.

The taxi pulled up outside the crime scene, already taped off and several police cars dotted about. And, just as I expected, Donovan was standing outside.

“Ah, Freak, finally back from the loony bin? Shall I warn everybody to back away before you snap again?” she hissed, full of venom.

“Original as ever Sergeant, it’s almost like you have a brain cell. Now where’s Lestrade?” I shot back, without missing a beat.

“Coming down now.” Donovan spotted John, “Still following this one round then? Or is this more a doctor/patient relationship now?”

“I don't think that’s any of your business.” John glared at her, Loki stayed quiet, though he looked tense, ready to react if needs be.

“I think it is, none of us really want a violent psychopath running around crime scenes, especially when they’ve got history of serious mental health issues.” Donovan sneered, just as Lestrade came down.

“Enough Donovan, I’ve warned you enough about this.” he in turn also glared at the woman, “Sorry, come this way you three.” He lifted the tape for us.

“Whoa, what’s a dog doing here?! You can’t bring that in.” Donovan grabbed my arm. Loki immediately growled at her, she jumped back.

“I think you’ll find that I can, he’s with me.” I answered, “Down Loki, it’s safe here.” I rubbed his fur appreciatively.

“It’s a bloody dog, Lestrade can’t possible allow this, it’ll contaminate the crime scene!” Donovan argued, giving Loki wary looks.

“Not more than Anderson will, where is he anyway? Hiding? On a training course to learn how to actually do his job properly?” I raised an eyebrow, turning round and heading up the alleyway to the crime scene.

Blood was everywhere, pooling around the thoroughly beaten bodies. Quite horrendous really. The question was, why had the killer swapped the victims clothes? Interesting, very interesting.

“Got anything?” John asked, I told him everything I could. That the victims didn't know each other, that this wasn't some sort of crazed killing thanks to a drug high as Scotland Yard thought, that this was part of a ritual. And that we needed to check all the local night clubs for security footage of the victims.

“Wait, going to be okay with that?” John stopped me, incredibly concerned.

“Of course, there’s a ritualistic murderer on the loose, there’s possibly more victims that nobody has linked together, and the killer will probably strike again very soon. The game is on John!” I raced off, John following close behind.

The thrill of the chase, the blood pumping through our veins, the two of us back together, solving crimes again. I was back, and more importantly, I was _home._


	252. A Few Thank Yous

So this is it, the end of Echoes, I can't believe it! I never thought that this would end (in a good way), and in some ways I'm glad it is done with. At times I struggled hard with this fic, for various reasons I won't go into. 

But I'd like to say a  _massive_ thank you to everyone who has read this fic, it's my first for this fandom and it means a lot to watch the view count go up by nearly 100 with every update, it's an insane number, something I haven't experienced before in other fandoms, so thank you for that. 

I'd like to give a bigger thank you to those who have commented and encouraged me with this fic, words really can't describe how much I appreciate every single comment on my work, I love you all dearly. Whenever I doubt my writing abilities, for whatever reason, your kind words kept me going, which I will be thankful for forever. 

I'd also like to give a special thank you to a few people:

1) Nita, my beta reader, who has tirelessly corrected my mistakes many a times, and never gotten angry when I've made the same mistakes repeatedly, even after they've been pointed out several times. You've beta read this through moving, computer issues, and a number of other problems, it means so much, thank you!

2) Suzanne, who has sent me many link and useful information to do with plot lines. 90% of my information about service dogs like Loki has come from you, along with a tonne of other information about sensory rooms and such, so thank you so very much for that, it's helped out a tonne and saved me a lot of headaches! Also thank you for answering all of my questions, this fic would not have been what it is without you!

3) Charlie, my best friend who has heard me talk constantly about this, helped me talk out plot points, and reassured me when I've been nervous about something! The encouragement has been massively useful!

Anybody else I've missed, I'm very sorry, but thank you for all your help, it has all helped to make this fic what it is! 

As for a playlist of things I listened to while writing this, there's a few key ones, such as:

Echo - Jason Walker, where this fic got it's title, as well as a lot of the plot line.

Human - Christina Perri

Between The Raindrops - Lifehouse

Life Without You - Stanfour

Safe And Sound - Taylor Swift

Don't Let Me Get Me - P!nk

How To Save A Life - The Fray

Missing - Evanescence 

You - The Pretty Reckless

Say Something - A Great Big World

And as for my next fic, if anybody is interested, it's called Twisted And Decayed, and it isn't about PTSD or anything. It's more what happens when Mycroft meddles in Sherlock's life too far. I'll be uploading it on Sunday.

With that, all I have to say is that I hope you have enjoyed this fic as much as I've enjoyed writing it, and that you think that the ending was satisfying. Thank you once again, this has been a great learning experience for me. 


End file.
